AmerIndian 2192

by J. Scott Garibay
 J. Scott Garibay 1

AmerIndian 2192

By J. Scott Garibay

Copyright 2008 J. Scott Garibay

scott.garibay@gmail.com

AmerIndian 2192 is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

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2 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 01

“The Injuns will catch you while crossing the Plains. They'll kill you, and scalp

you, and beat out your brains. Uncle Sam ought to throw them all over the

fence, so there'll be no Red Injuns a hundred years hence.”

A popular settler campfire refrain, nineteenth century, Earth.

1972 - The Black Hills of South Dakota

John “Bear” Vajo opened the lid of the army green case. He brushed

away straw and pulled one of the six M-16's out of the case, inspected it. The

slide of the fully automatic weapon moved with a smooth, fluid action.

Smacking a full magazine into the M-16, he walked to the spot he had

prepared for testing the weapon. At one hundred meters he sent three tin

cans spinning off a low sitting boulder. The weapon's report rang clear and

loud over the dry, hard packed hills and echoed back. This did not worry
 J. Scott Garibay 3

Bear. The only people who might hear the noise would certainly not call local

law enforcement.

“Never been fired. They were one truck away from getting shipped to

‘Nam.” The thin sallow man flicked a butt and let the smoke roll out of his

mouth as he talked. “Three grand, cash, right now for this case. I can supply

one case every three weeks.”

Bear looked at the smoking butt lying on the sacred ground. “Two

grand cash now and two grand more for every case you can get me before

July Third.” Bear leaned the rifle over his shoulder and headed back to

where his battered pick-up broiled under the high sun.

The thin sallow man cursed under his breath. “You know how hard…”

Bear stopped suddenly and wheeled on the thin man. He thrust the

rifle into his hands. “You told me you had four cases and you come with one.

Two thousand now and I will ignore the fact that you are a lying cheat like

the rest of your pale race.”

The man backed up a step, startled by the quiet AmerIndian's quick

rush of anger. He held the weapon and turned his eyes away from Bear's

hard glare. “Don't get all Injun on me, man.” He drew a breath, short and

shallow with lungs weak from three decades of hard smoking. “And you

shouldn't be handing a loaded gun to a man you're calling a liar.”

With a grin the man leveled the rifle and snapped off the safety. His

thumb was rising off the metal switch when Bear disappeared. In the half
4 AmerIndian 2192

second it took him to look down, Bear had dropped forward and swept his

long leg around in a wide, fast circle. It connected with the thin man's ankle

sweeping him to the ground. As the thin man fell, Bear rose.

Just before the thin man landed clumsily in a rising cloud of dust, the

rifle let out a quick startling burst. With speed and accuracy born from

necessity, Bear snatched the rifle from the thin man's hands.

The thin man coughed from the dust kicked up in the turmoil. He

began to sit up. His eyes opened just in time to see the butt of the rifle

slamming into his forehead.

The eighty kilometers back to the Wantabi reservation rolled by

quickly. Bear turned up the truck's stereo, trying to let Zeppelin's latest

drown out his thoughts. The plans that ran through his mind were already

set into motion. The next two weeks would only be execution.

Sunset was approaching when he pulled his pick-up in near the sweat

lodge that had been erected for the meeting tonight. Bear could see the

lodge, packed with tribe Elders. Small, one story, four room reservation

houses spread out across the wind swept land a few hundred meters away.

A slim, feminine AmerIndian silhouetted in gold by the dipping sun

approached. “How'd it go?” Ashai brushed poker straight strands of black

away from her eyes.

“Six units.”
 J. Scott Garibay 5

Ashai's face turned from concern to anger. “Six! We need twenty-

four!”

“Six is all we're getting through Greven. We'll have to go through your

Los Angeles contact. Good news is, the six we got cost nothing.” Without

ceremony, he handed a manila envelope, fat with rumpled, rubber-banded

twenties, to her.

“How'd that happen?”

Two AmerIndian youths were now carefully hauling the case of

weapons off the bed of the pick-up. They hustled off toward the houses.

“You don't want to know.” He placed his hands on his hips, exhaled.

“We are two weeks away from target date. I don't know if…”

Ashai's anger evaporated and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him

softly. “Don't worry. We planned. We worked hard toward this. No obstacle

will stop us because our cause is pure. We are strengthened and watched

over by our Grandfathers.”

She was quiet and Bear became aware again of the AmerIndians

around them busily preparing the area for the gathering of four tribes that

night. Ashai hugged him. “The Elders wish you to join them in the wickiup.”

Bear glanced toward the steam house. Ashai smiled reassuringly and

gripped his hand tight before letting him go.

6 AmerIndian 2192

Bear walked to the steam house and stripped off his clothes. He

wrapped a long swath of buckskin around him and ducked inside. The wet

heat hit him like a soft blow to his entire body.

He squeezed in between One Who Harvests Early and Winosha.

Conaqua, Okala, and Sheldoc were across from Bear. None of the Elders

acknowledged him. They rocked back and forth in a flowing, steady rhythm

as Okala hummed almost inaudibly.

Bear closed his eyes and drank in the heavy heat and the cramped

solitude of the steam house. His head fell forward slightly from his

exhaustion and he felt himself rock back again without effort as though he

were carried by the momentum of the men next to him. Forward and back,

the weight of his body melted away.

Forward and back, the soft hum of Okala became louder in his ears. As

if carried and twisted by wind, the voice of the Elder became the piercing cry

of an eagle as he sang on.

Bear lost consciousness of the hours passing outside the steam house,

unaware of the hundreds of AmerIndians waiting outside for the Elders and

him.

The spell ended abruptly. Bear suddenly felt the press of the men next

to him. Each Elder opened his eyes and realized that night had fallen. The

men crawled out of the steam house. AmerIndians helped each Elder and

wrapped them in clean, cool blankets. The various activities of the gathered
 J. Scott Garibay 7

AmerIndians ceased and the crowd of hundreds shuffled closer to the sweat

lodge. Bear felt crowded and backed away. He had heard what each of the

Elders had heard and his heart ached. He reeled from the impact of the

knowledge.

Two AmerIndians clothed in the vibrant colors of the shamans led

Okala toward the crowd and seated him on a flat, black rock. Bear realized

Okala was still in the trance, still listening to the voice of the eagle. He

understood as Okala started to talk that he would now hear in words what he

had known in spirit in the lodge.

Okala's voice floated from him and covered the crowd like a light rain.

“Brothers and guardians, we are joyous that you come to us, that you seek

our wisdom. We understand your questions. We know of your efforts to

return the land of your forefathers to its guardian, to the People who live and

love her with gentle respect.

“But we will not bless your plans on this day. Your attempts to wrest

the land from the White Man, from the nation of beautiful, strong thieves,

will fail. Return the weapons you have gathered. Turn back from the path

you are prepared to follow. Now is not the time. The White Man will crush

you because the White Buffalo is not among you.

“The time will come when the land will be yours again, when the White

Man will fall, decimated by your unstoppable might, when the Grandfathers

will serve you as invincible warriors. Watch for the signs of that time.
8 AmerIndian 2192

“The White Buffalo will walk among you in his four leg form and his two

leg form. The White Buffalo will lead the people to the Homeland, a land

where they will remember how the simple life of their forefathers

strengthened them, where the new shaman will be truly mighty. In this land

the sun, the moon and the stars will be blocked from sight day and night and

yet the sky will sparkle like gold dust.

“After this Homeland has been taken and the blood price paid, there

will be a season when the people will prosper like never before. The

Homeland will call to the shamans and they will ache to kiss the ground

where the ancestors are buried, where their magic has no limit.

“Then the true war will begin. A time of devastation for both the Red

Man and the White Man. But this time, the White Buffalo will not be with the

Red Man. After the White Buffalo leads them to the Homeland he will be sent

away from the Red Man in shame, cast out for as long as the winds blow and

rivers flow. The battle for the Sacred Grounds will shatter all that has come

before and forge a new way of life for all men.”

Okala became quiet, his speech dropping off abruptly, like something

going over a cliff. Silence blanketed the crowd. AmerIndians shook their

heads.

Bear struggled to remain standing. For three years he had led a

network of AmerIndians across the Mid West, making intricate protracted

plans. He had developed and crafted a large guerrilla strike; a military blow
 J. Scott Garibay 9

to the established White Man's system of land ownership and debt based

slavery. Bear thought of that system, oppression through blatant and

masked prejudice.

His military movement had started with college students then spread

to be blessed by the Elders of over two dozen tribes. The rebellion he had

planned would spill the blood of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people.

Bear's goal; to return the sacred Black Hills to the AmerIndians. The Black

Hills were intended to be a foothold for the start of a war that would return

thousands of square kilometers of Midwest land to the tribes.

Bear's grief became a physical weight. His body slumped to the

ground. All his work was for nothing. Young tribe members huddled around

him, lifted him, and carried him away from the crowd. The Grandfather

spirits were forsaking Bear and all his efforts for his people. The

Grandfathers told Bear to wait for another time. He had thought the time

was now. His people had waited for five centuries. Wasn't that long enough?

Young AmerIndians whisked Bear away from the other tribe members.

Bear felt the arms of the young men who respected him, believed in him,

who had served him. He thanked the Grandfathers at least that these young

AmerIndians would not let the tribes see him weep like a child.
10 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 02

2192 - Ursa Major Galaxy Cluster, twenty-three million light years from Earth.

Keokuk squinted at the perfect ring of blue-white energy signaling the

arrival of his ship. He focused and glanced out through the large windows of

the forward viewing bay. The ring crackled as the sleek, compact outrider

ship surged through it. Tumble Weave, an AmerIndian Confederacy lodge

ship, came into view. The behemoth ship waited patiently for the small

outrider ship that had carried Keokuk across galaxies.

Keokuk tapped his fingers together in a lightning fast staccato rhythm.

Embroidered keying bands, fitted tight around his wrists, converted the

movement of his fingers to letters and numbers, replacing the antiquated

functions of a keyboard. On the inside of the lenses of his blue-hued glasses,

code flashed down in a growing column. He had worked straight through the

firing of the Kellion Cannon, straight through the miracle of correspondence

travel. Most tribals were used to traveling vast distances in a fraction of a

 J. Scott Garibay 11

second by the use of a correspondence plane but few did it as frequently as

Keokuk. As one of the Tsimshian top tri-jacks Keokuk's skills were in demand

by nearly every tribe. He traveled almost constantly and was known by

hundreds of tribals on every lodge ship in the AmerIndian Confederacy.

Keokuk double tapped his index finger and thumb. His comp lenses

instantly displayed a graph of AmerIndian Confederacy lodge ships.

Bright icons showing his Tribe's totem marked the four ships he was

slated to consult on in the next ten days. Keokuk finger tapped again and his

comp lenses became translucent green so he could see his surroundings

without any visual obstructions. Keokuk grabbed his embroidered black

leather jacket; donning it he as left the room and entered the cold, cramped

metallic halls of the outrider ship. The jacket was significantly oversized so it

fit even his large, round frame well.

A quick tap of his fingers threw a deck map of the outrider ship onto

the lens in front of his left eye. It had been a few months since he had been

on this ship so he needed the comp guide. He scanned the deck map while

simultaneously sliding down ten meters of ladder that led down to the deck

of the ship's main airlock. He took a few turns before he spotted a small

group of tribals chatting near the airlock.

A large Nez Perce officer dressed in his tribe's black pants, crew neck

cotton tee and poly-lythe tactical vest uniform, handed Keokuk's leather

satchel to him. The satchel was embroidered beautifully with the same
12 AmerIndian 2192

Tsimshian rattlesnake Totem symbol that decorated his jacket. “The

Diegueño have everything ready for you. I believe one of their Tsimshian

cross-workers will be able to answer any of your questions.”

Keokuk smiled. The Diegueño tribe served as the AmerIndian

Confederacy's preservationists. It was their task to care for the thousands of

mammals, fish, birds and reptiles that the AmerIndian Confederacy

maintained for the day they would all return to the Homeland. The Diegueño

also grew the huge quantities of organic foods necessary to feed all 416,000

tribals in the AmerIndian Confederacy. It did not surprise Keokuk that the

Diegueño tribals would send a Tsimshian cross-worker to help him. Out of the

eight tribes that comprised the AmerIndian Confederacy the Diegueño had

the most difficulty dealing with the complex computer technology necessary

to keep the lodge ships running.

Throwing the satchel over his shoulder, Keokuk ignored the hard plastic

clank as metric tons of the outrider ship's blastplast merged with the

Diegueño's lodge ship at the airlock. “Oh before I go, I did some deep

maintenance and repair on your Malakim carbon. It was twenty-seven

percent deteriorated. It got it back down to twenty-one percent so that

should give you anywhere from four to six additional months of solid

performance.” Keokuk made a practice of working on the agent programs

that ran the correspondence code on every Kellion Cannon ship he traveled

on.
 J. Scott Garibay 13

“Captain Hathai will be pleased to hear that. Thanks. It was good to see

you again, Keokuk. Catch ya at the Steel Circle.” The other Nez Perce tribals

smiled at the pleasant mention of the annual meeting of all the tribes.

Keokuk nodded and embraced the officer, as was the custom in the

Confederacy upon arriving or departing. He then walked through the large

airlock and was visually assaulted by the always-surprising site of the lodge

ship Tumble Weave.

He was in a regular corridor of the Diegueño lodge ship but even that

was enough to show him the eccentricity of the AmerIndian Confederacy's

most lively tribe. Where other tribes left the corridors of their lodge ships

unpainted and dark to increase the ship's energy efficiency and accessibility

the corridors of Tumble Weave were well lit to see the wildly painted murals

of animals and landscapes.

Keokuk pacified himself by interrupting the spectacle with a few quick

stats displayed on his lenses. Tumble Weave was a full C5 class lodge ship,

three kilometers in diameter, one hundred twenty decks. It could

accommodate a community of 25,000 tribals. However, only 11,000

Diegueño lived on Tumble Weave. The other sixty decks left ample space for

buffalo, wolves, horses, bears, lynx and numerous other animals to roam.

The largest space-faring aquarium ever created took up the seven center

decks of the ship. In sections divided by invisible gravity fields great white

sharks swam near dolphins, blue whales and over one thousand other

varieties of fish.
14 AmerIndian 2192

A plump Diegueño woman greeted Keokuk with an embrace. Her

flowing, bright skirt and top were strikingly different than his dark attire. She

introduced him to Condu, leader of the Tsimshian cross-workers on Tumble

Weave. Condu was a Tsimshian tribal stationed on the Diegueño lodge ship

to oversee the two hundred Tsimshian cross-workers assigned for extended

periods to help the Diegueño with computer issues. Keokuk recognized

Condu immediately because of the huge wad of bigui, gum made from fir

and cedar trees, he constantly chewed. Another Diegueño took Keokuk's

satchel and left to prepare a place for him in one of the large communal

areas the Diegueño used instead of individual rooms like the other tribes.

Condu explained the problem as they walked through the halls toward

the lodge ship server. “This bucket was captured right after the White Earth

Massacre. Since then we have added patch code to the original server code

to control the hundreds of filters, dozens of grav field generators and

thousands of automatic feeders for the inner sea at the center of the ship.

The original code was written in 2174 making it now eighteen years old.

Despite continuous updates the UDA viruses, that we were able to suppress

for years now, finally overcame our safeguards. All of the automatic systems

supporting the marine life shut down simultaneously. The Diegueño do not

have the skill to bring even the most basic systems back on line and we

don't understand the filtering system well enough to know what the right

order is to bring them online. The systems have been down for three hours

and already hundreds of fish have died. Diegueño divers are physically
 J. Scott Garibay 15

keeping the predators away from the prey fish. Great whites attacked two

Diegueño. Neither survived. I got all two hundred Tsimshian banging the

server with edit undo dances and relinks but I don't think we can get the

server back up in less than another three hours.”

Keokuk followed Condu into Tumble Weave's main computer room.

Keokuk shook his head as he saw lush, vibrant plants positioned elegantly

throughout the room. It was not the stark, clean interior he was used to

seeing around a ship server. “Only the Diegueño,” he thought. The ship

server, the size and shape of a coffin, hovered a meter off the floor. Not a

single wire, cable or antenna interrupted its smooth exterior.

The Steady Pulse System invented by Fuchi megacorp two decades

before had eliminated cumbersome wires and cables, but only for the

AmerIndian Confederacy. The UDA paid Fuchi to mothball the system

because it did not want the expense of converting millions of government

systems. The AmerIndian Confederacy had stolen the designs within eight

months of its completion.

The Steady Pulse System allowed data to be transferred up to one

thousand kilometers by high frequency beta waves. It had been a major

advance in portable computing. With a Steady Pulse ship server every tribal

on a lodge ship could link with a comp set and keying bands. AmerIndian

Confederacy comp sets could be commanded by voice or finger tapping

(read through keying bands). Light, sleek glasses fixed with audio pickup

mikes and tiny speakers extending near the ear, served each tribal as a
16 AmerIndian 2192

portable comp. Comp sets read signals from finger tapping or the user’s

voice and displayed information on adjustably opaque or translucent lenses.

The tribal could choose to see data only or his surroundings and data. This

unique tool had given the AmerIndian Confederacy a significant technology

leap over their UDA opponents who still used traditional wall screens and

keypad equipment. Keokuk had, like all Tsimshian, mastered these tools in

his youth. Now he commonly walked the halls of a lodge ship as he wrote

code and scanned the daily text uploads of various tribals. Disconcerted by

the level of multitasking the Tsimshian engaged in, other tribals tolerated

their lack of attention and distracted conversations due to their obvious

technical value.

Condu frowned. “It's a variant of Bubonic Slide.” He fed the anti-virus

code to Keokuk’s comp set view as well as the rest of the tech-jacks in the

room.

Keokuk circled the server. “I presume you ran all of the standard

breakers from the ‘30s and ‘40s.” Keokuk fingers began to move.

“Once we figured out what we were looking at we did. Took two hours.

We've only been trying to kill the virus for an hour.” Every tribal in the room

looked toward Keokuk. All of their comp set views changed, words dropping

away to an ugly mass of zeros and ones, binary code. In seconds, Keokuk

had cut access to the ship server unit and placed it under his sole and direct

control.
 J. Scott Garibay 17

“It's not a variant of Bubonic Slide, it’s a predecessor. Written by

Alexander Haim in 2127. Whoever got this bug in here was into the classics.”

Keokuk stopped circling the server. With irreverence he jumped and landed,

sitting on top of the floating server. It's grav field only dropped a few

centimeters under his considerable weight. He clumsily pulled his legs into a

lotus position. His hands fell to the humming plasteel surface of the ship

server. He pulled his hands back up slowly until his fingers pointed up. The

lenses of his comp set mirrored and his fingers began tapping.

Less than a minute passed before the tech-jacks staring at him felt the

dull boom emanating from the lodge ship's center decks. Hundreds of

systems were rebooting in the reverse sequence they had shut down. Cheers

rang out as Condu helped Keokuk down from the server, slapping his back

and laughing.

“Well played,” Condu exclaimed. “Why didn't you leave our comp set

views active so we could watch your code? My boys could use the help.”

“You don't want your boys picking up my bad code habits. I find it takes

me more time to defend my code than to write it so I don't try anymore.”

Keokuk grinned.

“We are all a team here, Keokuk. You got to learn to play well with

others,” Condu jabbed playfully at Keokuk's arm. “You know we will still have

days of clean up even after your miracle save.”

18 AmerIndian 2192

Keokuk smiled wide. “Wish I could help. One thing that concerns me

about this is whoever placed this virus had high level Haida access codes. I

will look into it and get back to you with what I find. Listen, can you have

Chief Sequoya authorize an outrider ship to rendezvous me with Brule’s

lodge ship by noon tomorrow. I just gained about eighteen hours on my

schedule. Like to take advantage of that if I can.”

“Sorry, no.” Keokuk shook his head as Condu showed him his area in

the common room. Hundreds of families lived on this wide-open deck. No

walls separated each family's area from the next. Children ran here and there

playing Hunter and Doe. He also saw a young girl changing her shirt in the

open with no more concern than if she were reading a book. “I need a place

where I can work, somewhere quiet with no people around, preferably.”

“Keokuk, quiet places devoid of people are a little difficult to find on a

Diegueño lodge ship. Trying to squeeze a ‘quiet time’, I guess. I had forgotten

you’re a devout Evangelical Christian, aren’t you? Well, relax a while. Enjoy

the change of scenery and the people. Go down to the crafts deck and spend

some wampum. There is a lot of superb stock right now due to the artisans

getting ready for the Steel Circle.”

“I have hours of work to do before I sleep and more when I wake. Now

please, I don't care if it's an empty flight hangar, I need a quiet work area.”
 J. Scott Garibay 19

Condu nodded in ascent and lead Keokuk back out of the common

room.

It took some searching but in an hour Condu found a spot on the Wolf

deck, an observation station resembling a tree fort. “I’ll speak to Chief

Sequoya within the hour, see if we can get that outrider ship for you. I'll also

try to keep your stay here as productive as possible,” Condu said.

“Excellent. Thank you, Condu.” Keokuk settled and set to work before

Condu had reached the grass-covered floor again. He linked with the ship

server and set to work on the lodge ship Tumble Weave’s navcomp. These

powerful comps insured that when the ship fired its Kellion Cannon to create

a correspondence plane, that correspondence plane would take the lodge

ship to exactly the calculated position galaxies away. He lost himself in the

work and was shaken from his concentration when his comp set blinked with

an incoming message.

TO Keokuk / FROM Wolf Plume - Just hit Tumble Weave. Pack is hand

delivering some sensitive data we obtained on our last op. Heard about your

five-minute crisis crush. Well done. It's been way to long, friend. Meet the

boys and me for a drink at “The Cave”, 2300 hrs.

Keokuk groaned at the interruption. It was late and he still had three

hours of work to do before he turned in. But the request came from Wolf
20 AmerIndian 2192

Plume, the old Russian who had swung him platinum level access to ship

servers when he was eight and kept him reading with a steady flow of

Twentieth Century comic books and even hard copy books throughout his

teens. The groan turned to a grin as he pulled his jacket on. He labored his

way down the tree and made his way quickly through the fifty meters of light

forest toward the corridor entrance. A gray wolf approached and eyed him

dangerously and he considered running until he remembered Condu’s

advice. He continued to walk slowly, not making any sudden movements. In

a moment he exited safely into the corridor. The cold hall air hit him as he

finger tapped up a ship map to lead him to “The Cave”.

Snow's smile was sweet and inviting. Keokuk smiled back as he handed

his jacket to her. She took the jacket, caressing the soft black leather. She

admired the fine embroidery. The jacket, bearing the Tsimshian symbol, was

a gift from Blue Cloth that Keokuk had worn for a dozen years now.

“Heroes drink free tonight, enjoy yourself. Good to see you again,

Teddy.” She poked playfully at his belly.

“Good to see you again, Snow. I'll tell you if I see any heroes.” Keokuk

had to lean in to be heard.

“Crazy Eight, the new soft-jack for Crew Emerald Beta-”

Keokuk nodded, “I know Crazy Eight.”

“He'll pay twelve hundred wampum for this jacket.”

 J. Scott Garibay 21

“It's not for sale and I believe I've mentioned that before.”

“Sorry, Keo,” she said tapping her fingers together. “Did Condu find

you a place to doss tonight? Cause I…”

“Yes.” He said flatly.

“Don't wait so long to visit again.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed

him lightly on his clean-shaven head.

Keokuk walked slowly forward and let the audio/visual maelstrom that

was “The Cave” soak into his head. Fast, hard rock pounded out of the large

luminescent speakers set in front of the glass aquarium walls. The Cave was

the AmerIndian Confederacy's undisputed hot spot. Clear plasteel made up

the circular walls and the floors of all seven stories. “The Cave” was a

cylinder surrounded by the bright shimmering waters of Tumble Weave’s

center deck aquarium. Keokuk made his way through the undulating,

drunken crowd. The Diegueño usually shared their lodge ships with over one

thousand AC members from other tribes. These tribals, known as

crossworkers, served various purposes. Some transported organically grown

foods to other tribes. Some delivered Diegueño art and crafts to UDA black

markets. Others consulted on research being run in the on-ship Diegueño

animal habitats.

Keokuk passed a group of young tribals and tech-jacks. Together there

were more than ten software, hardware and overall comp experts. They were

skinny or fat, distinct from the hard bodies of the Apache or Brule soldiers.
22 AmerIndian 2192

The tech-jacks averted their eyes from Keokuk, a clear cyber salute of their

subculture. Only the tri-jack among the group, a Tsimshian crossworker

known as Tokuga, nodded slightly at Keokuk over his drink. Keokuk nodded

back and noticed respect and envy peeking out from behind Tokuga’s

aloofness.

Keokuk wrangled a few more meters through the packed crowd and

found what he was looking for. A back booth overflowed with Jade Dagger

Pack. Wolf Plume, a grizzled old pilot bearing Russian features, was telling

one of his numerous war tales. Next to him sat a handsome young Irishman

tribe-named Slow Turtle. He laughed at Wolf Plume's exaggerations. Cavaho,

a wiry soldier, was scanning the crowd, spotting Keokuk as soon as he came

close to the booth. Cavaho gave no sign of recognition to Keokuk. Instead he

continued staring at him placidly as he closed the last few meters to the

booth. Thankfully Wovoka, the leader of Jade Dagger and Keokuk's brother,

was absent. A weight of dread lifted from Keokuk's shoulders.

Keokuk broke the sound shield surrounding the booth and piled in next

to Wolf Plume. Once inside the shield only the steady vibration of “Pimp

Caine” at eighty decibels reminded the group they were in a crowded bar.

“Keokuk, thank you! Thank you for coming.” Wolf Plume's eager smile

showed his joy at seeing his friend.

 J. Scott Garibay 23

“For you, anything, old man. How are you surviving with this blood

thirsty pack of dogs?” Keokuk jumped slightly as the massive body of a blue

whale slid by meters behind Wolf Plume.

“These boys keep my blood flowing and I get around just fine, thank

you.”

The Irish tribal sitting next to Wolf Plume tapped his fingers and words

scrolled across the steel blue of his comp set. “Can I order you something?”

“Thanks, Slow Turtle. Get me a Philly cheesesteak and an order of

cheese fries.”

Slow Turtle nodded and finger tapped the order. He refrained from

mentioning the meal would do little to help Keokuk's already heavy frame. As

an Apache warrior who tempered his body two to four hours a day for

optimum performance he couldn't help but think it.

“Is Shakespeare giving you time to breathe between duties?” Wolf

Plume took a long drink.

The last two years had been hectic for Keokuk. He had single-handedly

written a self-adjusting slip code that allowed Zuni agents to penetrate UDA

comm-gate security ICE in the field. He had been raised from tech-jack to tri-

jack. The title was a Tsimshian badge of honor that declared a tribal had

mastered three areas of comp expertise. Keokuk had developed expertise in

code writing, installing, repairing and adjusting hardware and in getting the

myriad of AC comps to talk to each other. Only legacy, the mastery of older
24 AmerIndian 2192

model comps and ancient code languages had truly challenged him. As one

of only sixteen Tsimshian tri-jacks, Keokuk’s assignments came straight from

the Tsimshian chief, Shakespeare.

“Shakespeare keeps me busy.” Keokuk was an unapologetic workaholic

and Chief Shakespeare did not shy from exploiting that fact. Keokuk might

have minded if he had something else in his life that work took him away

from, but he did not and he allowed the work to consume him. His career

progression in the AC was benefiting from the sacrifice.

Keokuk stared into the crowd for a moment. He didn't like to talk about

himself. When he looked back at the group he met Cavaho's eyes. Cavaho's

level gaze was empty, showing nothing of his feelings or thoughts. Keokuk

looked away quickly. As withdrawn as Keokuk was, Cavaho made him feel like

a lightweight in personal seclusion.

“So how can I help you, Wolf Plume?”

Wolf Plume laughed, “Am I that transparent? I'm sorry, Keokuk. Its just I

know you have info could help our pack right now. We’re trailing 430 points

behind Jade Pelt and one or two good ops would close that gap fast.”

Keokuk grinned. As a high level Tsimshian operative, Keokuk worked

alone. Almost all of the other tribals in the AC worked in packs, small groups

numbering between three and eight members, which vied for position

against one another. The packs were ranked by a point system for successful
 J. Scott Garibay 25

operations and the highest ranked packs got first crack at choice

assignments, equipment and new pack members culled from the AC's youth.

“It's no problem. I downloaded the primary daily dump from the

mother comp just before I left Grizzly King,” Keokuk finger tapped and pulled

up the available ops for Apache packs.

Wolf Plume, Slow Turtle and Cavaho squinted at Keokuk’s comp set. He

had left it translucent and the text could be read on the front of his glasses,

backwards. The three were discouraged to see that the lenses only showed

backward V-binary, an advanced code language only few Tsimshian could

read. Tribe Tsimshian used this rare code to hide sensitive information from

others. The three sat back again waiting for Keokuk to interpret.

“Cease fire has ended on Idelas Prime Outpost in the Privilege System.

Resistance forces there are looking for a flux crew to assist in setting up an

underground railroad to transport escaped mine workers off planet to the

nearest starbase.” Keokuk sent a map of the Privilege System to each of

their comp set lenses. Stats on the resistance forces, ship and troop counts,

played across the map. “It's a little more covert than your pack’s normal ops

but resistance forces are paying six hundred tons of tritanium up front to the

AC and promising eighty percent salvage after the resistance forces take the

capital. AC has six thousand troops allocated for combat on the planet in six

months. This will help lay ground work for that assault. Infiltrator and Turtle

packs are to be sent for various other ops. Point value for the mission is

anywhere from two thousand to three thousand for thirty days work.”
26 AmerIndian 2192

Wolf Plume stroked his well-groomed, grey beard. “That's an otter’s

take of points. Just the kind of numbers we’re looking for, no? Could even

give us some breathing room at the top for a while.”

Slow Turtle nodded. “What else?” He swirled the blue liquid in his glass

and swigged down half in a hard swallow.

“There’s a two week op on Outpost TZ461 in the Freedom System. It's

standard sabotage on a uranium mass driver. Negotiations aren't finished but

it looks like the AC will net twelve fighters for the Nez Perce. Point values

probably around fifteen hundred but that could go up if rumors of Admiral

Lige's fleet being in the vicinity are confirmed.”

At the mention of Admiral Lige, Cavaho sat forward.

“Last op of note is an interesting one. This is deep access so I need to

know each of you are going to keep this under raps.” Keokuk waited for each

of them to agree. He had to wait for Wolf Plume’s reply. The old Russian had

a tough time tracking all the data on his comp lenses and watching Keokuk

at the same time. Keokuk didn't wait for Cavaho's reply because he knew

there wouldn't be one. Nor was there any possibility Cavaho would tell

anyone the information.

“Remember rumors some years back about Rowan Cartel discovering a

habitable planet in the Periphery. Turns out they were true. Zuni agents have

been working on this for about ten months and they confirmed Rowan Cartel

discovered a habitable planet in the Canes Venatici Super Cluster. It's a small
 J. Scott Garibay 27

jungle planet they named Naanac. They have kept it secret from the UDA for

six years now. They are using it for a research facility and for Rowan it’s the

ultimate in privacy. No worries about the prying eyes of other megacorps and

no UDA inspectors to bribe. A free-floating orbital asteroid field surrounds the

planet. The asteroid field is the original rock crust of the planet blown into

orbit by tremendous volcanic activity…” Their comp set lenses showed a

graphic of what Keokuk described as he tapped his fingers.

“Skip the geography lesson. What's the op?” Slow Turtle finished his

drink and raised his glass at a Diegueño waiter.

Wolf Plume cocked an eye at Slow Turtle and slapped the back of his

head. “If you were paying attention you would understand that any op on

this planet is going to depend on geography. Please finish, Keokuk.”

Keokuk couldn't help himself. He chuckled at Wolf Plume's abruptness.

“This free-floating asteroid field, it’s called the Free Mantle. It surrounds

Naanac and makes it virtually impenetrable. The Free Mantle is free-floating

asteroids over two kilometers deep that will grind and smash even the

smallest ship into dust. The only way on or off the planet is to build a channel

through the Free Mantle large enough to get a ship through. Costs Rowan

Cartel millions of creds to build one channel once a year to take the research

data back to their headquarters on Earth. The window of opportunity is

coming soon. Rowan Cartel are sending out the annual shuttle and the Elders

want an Infiltrator team to slip in and retrieve animals for the Diegueño to

add to the AmerIndian Confederacy zoo.”

28 AmerIndian 2192

Cavaho's normal stoicism was now replaced with a look of interest.

Slow Turtle tried to regain a semblance of intellectual dignity. “Steel

Circle starts soon, won’t whatever team takes this miss out on the

gathering.”

Keokuk nodded. “That's why four thousand to six thousand points are

being offered. However, I should tell you now Elder Weaver is leaning toward

sending Jade Shark. He was impressed with their work on the Holstice

Penetration. Your going have to pull some strings and move fast if you want

the Naanac op.”

Keokuk finger tapped and cleared his comp set and the others’ as well.

Wolf Plume extended his fist forward toward Keokuk and Keokuk placed

his fist against it. “Thank you. You always come through for us. So what do

you pups think?”

Slow Turtle spoke without hesitation, as he often did. “Definitely the

mass driver sabotage op. It’s right up our alley. We could probably cut the

timetable down to a week. Also a higher chance of gun play than the other

ops and I really want to break in that new Sledge Decimator I picked up on

Privilege.”

Wolf Plume nodded, “If Lige’s in the vicinity we may get a shot at a

force survey that could net us an extra three thousand points off the same

op. I'd like to get a good look at his new Atlas class colony ship, Black

Mariah.”
 J. Scott Garibay 29

The three men turned to Cavaho. He stared back for a moment and

shook his head.

“You don't like the sabotage op?” Slow Turtle asked, surprised Cavaho

had any opinion on the matter.

Wolf Plume stroked his beard. “The Naanac op?”

Cavaho nodded.

“You might be right,” Wolf Plume said rapping the table. “It would be a

challenge for our overall performance. I think we are getting a little too

comfortable with the storming-the-gates approach. That's dangerous for an

Infiltrator Pack.”

Slow Turtle grinned. “Good Point. We beat the hell out of the Trighter

back on Upsilon 26. The shield generator only had three undamaged panels

left and I have a feeling Kill Spotted Horse is getting a little tired of the

repairs. He's already replacing our external plate armor with scryxat rather

than our usual plasteel.”

Keokuk looked outside the booth. Just outside the sound shield stood

three pretty Diegueño women. He recognized Hana, daughter of Diegueño

Chief Sequoya, and immediately stiffened. Walking up behind Hana was

Wovoka.

A cold silence fell on the booth as the brothers met each other’s gaze.

“I'm sorry, Keokuk. We were supposed to meet Wovoka an hour from

now,” Wolf Plume sounded flustered.

30 AmerIndian 2192

Keokuk's eyes never left his brother’s. “No worries, old man. Why don't

you and Slow Turtle go on? The ladies are waiting.”

Immediately, Slow Turtle and Wolf Plume bustled out of the booth.

Hana was talking to Wolf Plume before the sound shield resumed. Wovoka

continued to glare at his brother and Keokuk returned the look with intensity.

Wolf Plume physically pulled Wovoka around, away from Keokuk. Quick words

passed between the two, blocked by the sound shield. Keokuk watched as

Wolf Plume talked, his hands making sweeping motions as the old man

soothed the angry warrior. Then Hana was talking to Wovoka, laying her

hands on his shoulders. She led him away and Wovoka only shot one

venomous look back. Keokuk’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth in challenge.

Cavaho and Keokuk watched the group go. Slow Turtle spun one of the

women onto the dance floor, laughing and spilling his drink all at once.

Wovoka was pulled into a tight kiss by Hana and looked like he would have to

come up for air soon. The last woman, older and wearing more clothes than

the other two combined, leaned back in her chair, readying herself for Wolf

Plume's unabridged version of Jade Dagger's latest mission. Her readiness to

listen was truly an expression of affection. The seats surrounding Wolf Plume

were quickly vacated by tribals who knew better than to start listening to one

of Wolf Plume's lengthy orations.

Keokuk looked at all three couples, then at Cavaho sitting next to him.

“Feel like kicking someone's face in?”

 J. Scott Garibay 31

Cavaho smiled broadly.

32 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 03

“Fifth round! I'll take that wager and give you three to one,” Keokuk

laughed and fingered the wager to his comp set. Four Apache infantry

troopers made the same wager with him and Keokuk would have taken more

if he hadn’t exhausted his supply of wampum.

Tumble Weave was typical of AC lodge ships in the fact that the

majority of the inhabitants were from the tribe the lodge ship was designated

for, in this case Diegueño. Five to ten percent of the inhabitants were

crossworkers; tribals assigned long-term duty on a different tribe’s lodge

ship. The Nez Perce provided pilots to every tribe. The Haida provided

Shamans, healers and seers. The Kichai provided bean counters and Judges.

The Apache and the Brule provided various types of troopers and soldiers.

Tsimshian provided tech-jacks. The Zuni served as the AmerIndian

Confederacy’s intelligence branch.

Keokuk sat in the large barracks area given to the Apache and Brule

crossworkers assigned to Tumble Weave. The large room, its walls lined with
 J. Scott Garibay 33

small bunks, floor to ceiling, was strikingly different from the rest of the

Diegueño lodge ship. All of the colors, decorations and plants were gone,

replaced with grey walls broken only by the matte black and chrome of

hundreds of weapons. Tonight the room was packed.

Thinly disguised as “unarmed combat training,” the Apache and the

Brule weekly pitted their best hand-to-hand fighters against each other for

the entertainment and gambling needs of anyone who cared to observe.

Officially, the Diegueño abhorred the unnecessary violence but the Apache

and Brule kept to their own area and Chief Sequoya looked the other way.

Keokuk noticed that more than half of the tribals crammed in the room were

Diegueño.

The crowd doubled after Keokuk added Cavaho's name to the fight

schedule for that night. Keokuk shook his head in amazement and climbed

with Condu to sit in one of the high bunks with a good view of the fight circle.

Condu pulled himself up and sat next to Keokuk.

“Who's the feral favorite these days?” Keokuk pulled off his jacket.

Condu pointed out a towering figure a few meters from the edge of the

fight circle. “Johnny the Bomb. A UDA pro wrestler six months ago, still a

recruit, but the Apaches are warming to him already. He's been waiting three

months to get his hands on Cavaho.”

34 AmerIndian 2192

“No worries... I'm highly impressed with the effort the Diegueño have

put into this lodge ship. Seeing this dark hole these Brule troops live in

accentuates the beauty of the rest of the ship.”

Condu leaned back against the wall. “Most of the Diegueño hate living

on these lodge ships so they make the best of it. Have you seen the

arboretum on Anubis? Incredible, just incredible. How are the Tsimshian

doing with their lodge ships?”

Keokuk thought for a moment about Grizzly King, his home lodge ship.

“Well, Grizzly King is becoming quite polished. Over the last few years the

Kichai kicked back over a hundred million UDA creds. They were able to

increase the payments the Apache and Brule made for their merc work by

eighty percent and the Tsimshian got a nice cut because we facilitate quite a

bit of their work. We do a lot of code breaking, data sifts, upgrades on vehicle

and ship comps for both tribes. I know those creds should have gone into

education or maybe funded the confiscation of a whole new lodge ship but I

think the Elder Council is finally realizing the lodge ships are our homes.

They have been for all twenty-eight years of the AmerIndian Confederacy’s

existence. Some creature comforts had to be allowed.”

Keokuk brushed the sheets under his seat and continued. “We finished

updating all the internal fusion conduits four months ago and so the whole

ship is powered at one hundred and eighty percent efficiency. We are getting

a lot more play out of a Nagasphere than we used to. No showering

schedules, no power share schedules. It's almost too convenient. Half the
 J. Scott Garibay 35

tribe is forgetting all the silly stuff we used to do to live in that tub of a ship.

The weapons arrays we gained at Gates Beta are phenomenal. We trashed

three UDA super class destroyers a couple weeks back without even taking

three percent hull damage. No Nez Perce assistance needed. It's like bust to

boom. The Apache and Brule merc work is just so profitable.”

As the announcer strolled into the fight circle, Condu sat up and craned

his neck. “You speak truth. Between the raw creds these outposts are

offering, the material incentives; plasteel, cases of memory cubes, rail guns,

bulk medical supplies and scavenging rights, we’re booking a fortune. And

it’s easy money from what I hear. To the Apache and Brule, at least. Seems

like the UDA forces are getting easier to flog. Their troops are worthless; no

motivation, no ingenuity, no endurance.”

“I agree. UDA forces are low-grade fodder. What the UDA lacks in

quality though they make up for in quantity. Did you hear about the rout on

Fitzgerald 12, NGC 3116? The Apache sent in two P1 outrider ships with sixty

fighter escorts to evacuate a farming station. The Brule force commander

pushed the sched by three minutes to load another two hundred people.

Eight UDA Black Knight cruisers came in and pummeled the outrider ships.

All told, sixteen hundred tribals. Four AC survivors, four! That's where we are

paying for our newfound comfort. One mistake, one wrong decision, you let

the UDA get too close and they swarm you like a pack of dogs.”

Cavaho paced into the fight circle. The crowd erupted and swift finger

tapping occurred as another round of wagering was conducted. What round;

36 AmerIndian 2192

first, third, tenth? The majority of the betting was not on whether Cavaho

would win, only when. Few were taking the five to one odds on Cavaho

losing.

Cavaho pulled off a simple cotton tee baring a brilliant red AC symbol

tattoo. A group of Diegueño women and girls put up their hands and turned

their faces as if a bright light had been shined in their eyes.

Condu laughed, “A pity that much lust should be directed at a man so

unwilling to enjoy it.”

Keokuk laughed, “Got that right.”

Cavaho did not flex, stretch, pace or glare. He simply waited. With his

shirt off his body art could be clearly seen, a maze of bright red inked vines

and thorns covering his back, chest, arms. The message was clear, contact

with any part of Cavaho would cause bleeding and pain. His body appeared

to be exactly what it was, a weapon. His muscles were cut sharply, not large

from repetitious workouts, but hard and balanced, from varied exercise and

work. He stood 178 centimeters tall and weighed 70 kilograms. He looked

like Wovoka, bearing the same dark AmerIndian skin, but his jet-black hair

was shaved close.

“How long has it been since Angela married that Kichai arms dealer?”

Condu asked about Cavaho's former fiancée.

 J. Scott Garibay 37

“Almost three years now I think.” Keokuk fingered a command and his

comp set magnified his vision by fifty percent. “He took his oath of silence

over a year before she got married.”

Condu paused. “Cavaho really hasn't said a single word in four years?

I'll bet he talks to Wovoka.”

“Wolf Plume says he doesn't. Says he has kept the oath. Cavaho is

coyote crazy, though. From what Wolf Plume says, he is nested-If wired

twenty-four, seven. He works out six hours a day and does six different katas

for another two hours when they are not on active mission. Wolf Plume says

Cavaho is troubled by nightmares, sleeps very little except when he

completely exhausts himself. On the battlefield he’s a butcher. Goes out of

his way to get into hand-to-hand and carves up UDA troops with those

scythes he calls knives. Wolf Plume says sometimes Cavaho comes back

from an op drenched in blood and they have to throw him in the shower

because he won't wash or even move for half a day. It's like he's riding low

after coming off of some amazing high. I think he has a huge amount of

anger he’s trying to channel into something that won't get him banished. I

know without his pack, Jade Dagger, he would have been dead many times

over since the oath of silence.”

Cavaho's opponent entered the circle and immediately began pacing

from side to side. He rolled his neck, flexed, and lifted his knees. At 220

centimeters he was a good four decimeters taller than Cavaho and had
38 AmerIndian 2192

twenty kilograms of muscle Cavaho lacked. The former wrestler showed no

signs of nervousness or doubt. He seemed anxious to get started.

The announcer finished the stats report. “And so, gamblers and

onlookers, I present the twenty-seventh fight of the legend we know as

Cavaho, the Apache pride and terror. His challenger, Johnny the Bomb, a

gritty, fast contender - eight and one this season. The hardest kick in the

ring, 300 K.S.I. on the repulse pad.”

Most of the crowd booed loudly. He was not the man their wampum

was on. Cavaho did not react. He waited.

The announcer held his hand high in the air. “In my fist I hold eight

stones. Four will be given to each warrior. Each warrior may elect to give as

many stones to his opponent as he wishes. The settings on the blast gloves

and boots will be set to the amount of stones the warrior has at the

declaration. All wagers must be completed at this time before the

declarations are given.”

The announcer lowered his hand and walked to Cavaho first, handing

him the four stones. Cavaho held his hand out flat. The announcer placed his

hand over Cavaho's and pulled a piece of red cloth from his belt placing it

over both hands. He whisked the cloth away showing only two closed fists.

He returned to Johnny and did the same. He pulled both warriors to the

center of the ring. The crowd fell silent for a moment as the announcer held

up both fists.
 J. Scott Garibay 39

A chant rose from half the crowd. “A gift of all to make him fall.”

Cavaho's stones were never in question. In twenty-seven bloody bouts

Cavaho had never kept even one of his own stones. The only setting above

zero he ever received came from opponents who were braver than they were

smart. The announcer opened his hand and the number four showed on

everyone’s comp set view. The crowd harrumphed in knowing approval and

waited for Johnny' declaration.

“It appears Johnny the Bomb is brighter than your average recruit. He

has elected to give Cavaho the Decimator one stone.” The announcer

opened his hand confirming the number. “Set blast gloves and boots at one.”

He indicated Cavaho with his right. “And seven,” indicating Johnny with his

left. Large neoprene covered gloves and boots were thrown into the fight

circle. The steel and black fighting implements landed on the floor with

sharp, hollow clacks. Each warrior picked up the set thrown closest and put

them on. The blast gloves and boots were tools introduced in the gladiator

games on Praltas. The sets of gloves and boots were used to amplify the

power of a fighters kicks or blows, but deliver the blow in an even, cushioned

manner that avoided bone breakage. Cavaho would be hitting with his force

amplified ten percent. Johnny the Bomb would enjoy a seventy percent

boost.

Cavaho clapped the bulky gloves together, palms in. He kicked the

heels of both blast boots, activating them. Green lights winked on each glove

and boot. As the light bathed across his chest, Cavaho flowed into motion. A
40 AmerIndian 2192

short, quick step to the right. A wide backing arc to the left. Cavaho looked

up and watched as green lights fired in Johnny's hands. Cavaho shot forward,

running full force at Johnny. He flew across five meters and leapt at Johnny,

letting his speed carry him.

As Cavaho sped forward his knee lifted and his right arm cocked

backed into position to strike. He leveled his left arm at the massive wrestler

like a spear; his momentum flinging him to the point of impact. Cavaho's

explosive run, the sheer speed of it, caught Johnny by surprise. Johnny

scrambled through options, striking Cavaho, dodging his attack or some

combination of the two. The decision took only a second, a second he did not

have.

Johnny stepped quickly to the side and took his body out of the primary

line of Cavaho's leap. The wrestler stayed close enough, however, to snap off

a powerful left punch. Cavaho fired, his right glove connecting solidly with

Johnny's head. Johnny's left caught Cavaho square in the ribs. Johnny's head

cocked back and he stumbled before collapsing to his knees. Cavaho's

velocity combined with the force of Johnny's blow carried him another two

meters where he crashed, rolled and crumpled.

Johnny shook his head and planted his right hand to stop from falling

flat on his face. Cavaho lay on the floor motionless. Johnny groaned and

hauled himself upright. He staggered a few steps and stopped a moment to

gain equilibrium. As he tottered and the ringing in his ear lightened he

squinted at Cavaho lying limp and hopefully broken near the edge of the
 J. Scott Garibay 41

circle. He could see a large ugly purple patch on Cavaho's back where the

floor had marked him when he struck it. No sweat had slickened the surface

yet and so the floor had gripped his body and tugged at his muscles before

releasing him to complete his two-meter roll. There was no question in

Johnny's mind or any of the crowds that Cavaho had gotten the worst of this

trading of blows.

Johnny snapped his head twice, hard, shaking off the last of the

dizziness. He straightened his back and walked confidently toward the

motionless heap close to the wall. He gave a quick nod to the yelling crowd,

half screaming for him to finish Cavaho, the other half shouting for Cavaho to

get up. Johnny walked faster as he got closer to Cavaho. Just as he entered

striking range Cavaho rolled and rode a tight somersault away from Johnny

and onto his feet. Without any pause his feet flashed and he was circling; his

shoulders bobbing, fists up and ready.

Johnny frowned and readied his own fists. He circled and closed.

Cavaho stepped in and Johnny pounced, throwing a hammer jab toward

Cavaho's chest. Cavaho shifted sideways effortlessly and delivered a level

blow to the recruit's side. Johnny bounced away and hunkered.

The wrestler drifted back and began to circle and widen the distance

between the two. He refused to approach Cavaho for the moment. Cavaho

closed. He jabbed at Johnny's upheld gloves and then pulled back his right

for a heavy punch to Johnny's chest. Johnny twisted slightly and moved in
42 AmerIndian 2192

toward the punch. The punch hit Johnny’s chest askew and the sacrifice gave

Johnny enough time and space to maneuver in close to Cavaho.

Johnny raised his heavy blast gloves and dropped them on Cavaho

shoulders. Cavaho attempted to ram his left knee into Johnny's stomach. Too

late. Cavaho grimaced as Johnny clamped onto him, pulling him forward.

Johnny head butted Cavaho as he jacked his knee into Cavaho's hip, lifting

and turning him. Cavaho folded into Johnny and the wrestler let gravity pull

his heavy body down to the floor. Johnny’s fall was cushioned by Cavaho's

now vertically placed rib cage.

Keokuk groaned.

Johnny sprang up, leaving Cavaho on the floor. With a glee born from

the taste of victory he kicked Cavaho square in the back. Cavaho skidded a

meter, stopped, writhed with pain. The crowd roared in surprise, anguish and

delight. Johnny turned to face them, arms raised, soaking up the crowd’s

emotions as he had a hundred times before on intergalactic television.

Circling dramatically, Johnny moved toward Cavaho. The wrestler

pulled his leg up to thrust it down into Cavaho's ribs. Johnny's right leg was

up and he balanced awkwardly on his left before the strike. With unexpected

speed Cavaho chopped at Johnny's left leg with his right arm and rolled away.

As Johnny's body crashed to the plasteel, Cavaho strained to rise. Blood from

the head butt covered Cavaho’s face and he blinked furiously to clear his

eyes.
 J. Scott Garibay 43

Cavaho's heavy shoulders were hunched. He was unable to ignore the

fire in his side. The crowd groaned at the unnatural lump on his ribs, the

cracked bone pushing the skin upward. Cavaho's teeth were bared and he

heaved his breath with fury. Johnny rose to face him, fists up. The wrestler

laughed as he gazed on the bloody, broken man before him. Johnny pulled

his fists higher and stepped forward eager to finish.

Throwing a powerful finishing blow, Johnny lumbered forward. Cavaho

ducked, landing an upper cut to Johnny's jaw. Johnny struggled back as

Cavaho lowered his center of gravity and flung his left leg in a long slow arc

sweeping under Johnny's feet. Cavaho swept him cleanly and Johnny landed

on his rump. He looked more angry than hurt.

Cavaho lost no time in springing back up. Johnny scrambled to recover

and stand. Halfway up Johnny felt the lightning blow of Cavaho's foot catch

him square in the jaw. He arced back, blood spraying out of his mouth as he

crashed again to the floor. Johnny rolled to distance himself from his

assailant and hurried again to stand. Cavaho was there, slamming him back

down with a punch to the back of his head.

Out of nothing more than fear of losing, Johnny pushed himself to his

hands and knees. Cavaho nearly stood the wrestler up with a soccer kick to

the stomach. Cavaho reigned down two more blows, another trip to the

plasteel for Johnny. Johnny rolled onto his back. Rather than trying to stand

he put his hands up and shook his head. Cavaho backed away and lowered

his fists. Johnny's head rolled to the side and his hands dropped.
44 AmerIndian 2192

Stripping off the blast gloves Cavaho walked toward his fallen

opponent. He bent and grabbed Johnny's hand and hauled the hulk of a man

to his feet. His teeth clenched with pain, Cavaho steadied Johnny and raised

his fist in the traditional tribal warrior greeting. Johnny placed his fist against

Cavaho's. His face was a bloody map of bruises, his head dropped to avoid

the stares of his tribe brothers.

The crowd quieted as comp sets were checked with quick glances to

see how much had been lost or gained. The combat med tribals entered the

fight circle. Johnny angrily waived them away, but was in no shape to stop

them from helping him. Cavaho also half-heartedly struggled as they whisked

him away to mend his shattered torso.

Condu frowned. “Fifth round, what was I thinking?”

“You weren't thinking, Condu. I made a nice six hundred wampum on

that match so don't feel lonely in your loss.”

“Cavaho went back alley on that tribal. I’ve never seen him take a

tribal down so hard.”

Keokuk spoke while checking his winnings. “You haven't been watching

his bouts, Condu. He gives what he gets. Cavaho decided to get savage on

him only after that Apache kicked him in the back. Now I’ve got to get gone

and see if I can force half these winnings on Cavaho.”

 J. Scott Garibay 45

CHAPTER 04

Wovoka grunted the count out on his crunches keeping pace with the

blasting rhythm of Neon Corpse. “One fifty-six, 157, 158, 159…” Each surge

forward expelled a small bit of anger that had surfaced at the sight of his

brother.

Blood red wolf claw tattoos were visible against his bare chest. They

marked him as the leader of his pack, the Alpha. On the wall his micromesh

matte black body armor hung, adorned by fourteen small laser-painted red

handprints. Each marked the completion of an important tactical victory over

the UDA that was recognized personally by Apache Chief Coganthan.

While his features were unmistakably AmerIndian, Wovoka took little

stock in the purity of his blood. He was proud to be AmerIndian. He cherished

his ancestors but he did not believe it was facial features, perpetually dark

skin or long, poker-straight black hair that showed he was true AmerIndian. It

was his life.

46 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka's life, like the lives of most tribal members of the AmerIndian

Confederacy, showed him to be a free spirit. Fearless to a fault, honoring

what deserved to be honored, no possessions he could not carry on his back,

no savings, no debt. Wovoka was bound by nothing but the desire to live in

harmony with the spirits of the land. That desire had nearly been expunged

from his people from over seven centuries without a Homeland. Wovoka was

proud to be an AmerIndian and ashamed to be an AmerIndian without a

Homeland.

Underlying all of these ways and beliefs was his loyalty to the

AmerIndian Confederacy, his home and the center of his life.

Massive breaker doors rolled open with a hiss and a low groan. Hana

walked cautiously into the hot, greasy engine room. Wovoka worked out here

because the constant heat pushed his body farther faster. The place was also

solitary, visited only when repairs were needed.

Hana was dressed in a gleaming white workout ensemble. It contrasted

sharply with her dark oak skin. Her straight, jet black hair was tied back with

a small white piece of cloth. The shorts and cropped shirt she wore were

tight and looked as brand new as her spotless, white athletic shoes. She

indeed looked ready to workout but the outfit stated clearly working out was

not her purpose here.

“Hana,” Wovoka stopped and quickly walked over to the mag

converter. “Music off,” he said and pulled his shirt on. He was dripping with
 J. Scott Garibay 47

sweat and the shirt stuck to his chest and abdomen. “I didn't think I would

see you until tonight. Did you come to work out with me?”

Hana smiled. “Yes, I thought that might be nice. But first we need to

talk, a little.”

Wovoka picked up his towel and laid it on the large converter unit

making a place for Hana to sit without getting grease and water on herself.

She sat gracefully and patted the mag converter for Wovoka to sit next to

her.

“You have been gone too long,” Hana leaned in and kissed Wovoka

near his mouth. “Wovoka, I can't tell you how much I missed you,” she took

his hand in hers and squeezed. “You know it really doesn't have to be this

way, always apart from each other. Wovoka, you could be in a command

position within this Diegueño Lodge Ship. My father thinks the world of you.

You are very skilled and you are well respected by the chiefs. All it would take

is for you to ask and you would be transferred and promoted. We could be

together more than three days every two months.”

Wovoka looked directly at Hana and paused. “We have discussed this.

That is not my path. I thought you knew that. I will be promoted on merit

when Coganthan, my chief, determines I have earned promotion.”

“I do know that,” She paused and looked directly at him. “Wovoka, I am

in love with you. Deeply. And your path frightens me. In the past year your

pack has been on two-dozen missions. Out of those 365 days we’ve spent
48 AmerIndian 2192

twelve together. I saw footage from the Miner's rebellion. By Wambli, it was

inhuman. How can you do this job for one more day? Your third Infiltrator,

Cavaho… There is something wrong with him. He was covered in blood in the

footage. Not his own. You, your pack, are destined to be legend. Either you

will continue to conquer every foe as you have for half your life or you will be

killed by a hail of laser fire and immortalized by the Apache for your sacrifice.

You need to slow down. Live normally. You accept missions for your pack

three times more often than the quotas demand. It is too much.”

“Hana, why are you saying these things? You know who I am, what I

am. I am a soldier and a leader. Since I am a leader my standards must be

higher than those who follow me and who lead me. This is the goal I have set

for myself and I believe that I have been honest with you about that.”

“You have been honest. There is a big difference between accepting

your philosophy and living it. Wovoka, do you know how much I love you?

It's not loneliness. It's an overwhelming desire to be with you. I love you

because you are different, driven, passionate. I am beginning to fear you for

the same reasons. I fear what you will do to my life. Wovoka, look at me. I am

a beautiful, intelligent woman. I could have any man I choose and I pine

away for weeks waiting for you to return for a few days. I cannot accept the

reality of our relationship. It is unfair to me, Wovoka.”

Lowering his head, Wovoka pulled at the shirt sticking to his chest. “It

is not fair to you.” Wovoka stared at the doors for a moment. “You deserve
 J. Scott Garibay 49

more. You deserve more time, more attention, maybe even more love. I will

not give those things to you. You should find a man who will.”

Hana sat motionless. A tear fell from her cheek and for a few moments

she was silent. “I should, Wovoka. But I can't. I know my heart and a month

with anyone else would not compete with one day with you. I am sorry.

Wovoka, I want to hold a star in my hands but I don't want that star to lose

any of its power or brilliance.”

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, pulled him close and

lightly kissed his neck. He could feel each tear fall as she clung to him. He

could feel her warmth and he breathed deeply the sweet smell of her

perfume mixed with the salty odor of his sweat.

“I love you, Hana…” Wovoka pulled away from her and stood. “Enough

not to hurt you any longer.”

A questioning look spread across Hana's face as she wiped tears from

her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you should not have to sacrifice your happiness to be with me

for a few days every few weeks. Also, if you actually asked Sequoya if he

would pull strings to get me promoted me just so we could be together more

you really don't know me at all.” Wovoka stood. “Hana, I risk my life and the

lives of my pack every week. You think I would rob another tribal of a

promotion so I can have easy duty, so I can spend more time with you?”
50 AmerIndian 2192

Hana sat gaping, stunned. As the only daughter of the chief of the

Diegueño tribe she had dealt with more suitors than she could remember.

Relationships were a delicate dance of power, a game she had mastered long

ago. And never had she been in this position, hearing these words. But she

had played this game long enough to know how deep she was now. She had

forgotten rule number one of the game, the person who cares the least

about a relationship controls it. Wovoka had cared the least from day one

and now she had tried to leverage him when she had no power. It had

backfired, badly. Painfully, she realized Wovoka's words echoed what she had

said to so many others.

“No, Wovoka, this is just a disagreement, a misunderstanding. You

don't understand what I mean-”

“I understand exactly what you mean,” he interrupted softly. “I am

being selfish. I am putting my work, my goals ahead of our relationship and

that is wrong. I won't be willing to give you that kind of relationship for years.

The goal I have set for myself will take years to accomplish. I was wrong to

think I could give you what you are looking for. I am sorry.”

“Wovoka, you are what I am looking for,” Hana spoke without thinking.

As she heard herself say the words she ached. She remembered the men

who had valiantly tried to change her mind and failed. She knew the

hundreds of thoughts, the dozens of reasons why they should stay together,

how she would appreciate and contribute to his goals and dreams, were chaff

in the wind now. He was leaving her and there was nothing she could say to
 J. Scott Garibay 51

change that. Her only chance to be with him again was the last thing she

wanted to do. Be silent and act like this was best. Betray her heart.

“If I was what you wanted you would not have the concerns you have,”

Wovoka shook his head and placed his hand on her cheek consolingly. Hana

flinched; his gesture was a hard slap. She felt more tears forming.

“Yes, maybe this…” The tears rolled down her cheeks. They were

bright and iridescent against her dark skin and flowed slowly down the

smooth lines of her face. It struck Wovoka as strange, considering the

situation, how utterly beautiful she was. “This is for the best.” Hana turned

and walked slowly away, moving faster as the huge breaker doors rolled

open. Wovoka watched the doors roll shut behind her and knew she was

running when they closed heavily.

Wovoka wondered if he was being fair to her. He had been angry with

her when she brought up the same tired issue. Was there really room in his

life for her or anyone? How long would it be before he could be part of a

healthy relationship where he received and gave love in equal parts?

Wovoka led a top Apache Pack. Accordingly, he was constantly

traveling, constantly taking on infiltration missions for the Confederacy. Well,

not exactly for the AmerIndian Confederacy. Wovoka stopped himself and

thought about whom the missions were actually for. All of Wovoka’s goals, all

of his sacrifice revolved around Stone Rain, his father who had been pulled

away from him, his mother and his brother thirteen years ago. Killed in the
52 AmerIndian 2192

White Earth Massacre with 18,000 other tribals, Stone Rain had left a legacy

of service and dedication to the AC that Wovoka now labored to equal. A

sister planet to Earth, White Earth was a pristine world of forests, rivers and

mountains galaxies apart from man's birth planet. Corporations,

governments and factions still to wrest its possession from the UDA. If not for

his death, Stone Rain would have become chief of the Apache within a few

years. Now Wovoka was gaining the experience and reputation it would take

to achieve the goal death had stolen from his father. Along with the legacy

Stone Rain had left behind the seeds of conflict between Wovoka and

Keokuk.

Like his brother, Keokuk, Wovoka enjoyed his work. Serving the AC,

even killing for the AC was not labor a to him. His pack was skilled and their

success rate was rivaled only by one other infiltrator pack. Like his father

before him, Wovoka knew he could write his pack’s name indelibly into the

history of the AmerIndian Confederacy. Jade Dagger would be an integral tool

in achieving the AmerIndians’ first and greatest goal, regaining the North

American Continent, the Homeland, on Earth.

Wovoka strapped on his sparring gloves. He had been wrong to get

involved with Hana. Failing to recognize that fact from the beginning had

caused her undue pain. His fault. The thought repeated in his mind and each

time he slammed a quick jab into the repulse pad. Again and again and again

the repulse pad banged back into its mount and slowly the pain in his arms

overwhelmed the pain in his head.

 J. Scott Garibay 53

CHAPTER 05

In the liberty Galaxy Cluster, fifty-six million light years from Earth,

shuttle traffic was brisk between the gathered Nez Perce lodge ships. Dean,

one of seventy AmerIndian Confederacy recruits, peered out the shuttle’s

glasteel hull section. An amazing spectacle. So much different than the

crowded urban outpost he had escaped from. He thought back to his friends,

Lucas and Derek and the gaming group that saved for months to fund his

escape from UDA outpost New Angelos. They had worked hard to facilitate

his departure, to allow him to serve the AmerIndian Confederacy. He smiled

as he thought they might be thinking of him now too, galaxies away.

He turned away from the view and slipped on the comp set a liaison

tribal had given him. He softly spoke the commands to link him with the

shuttle server. He had practiced with the keying bands but was not yet adept

enough to use them effectively. Soon he was linked and he started to explore

the AC nets his limited access would allow. A section on new candidate

training scrolled up and he read it slowly.

54 AmerIndian 2192

The section explained it was the task of the Nez Perce tribe to take in

new candidates and mold them to tribal life. Weeding out the chaff from the

wheat was relatively easy. Hundreds of eager new recruits arrived by

dedicated shuttles every week to Nez Perce lodge ships. New candidates first

went through the Trial, a six-week physical and mental training session.

Approximately ten percent of the new candidates left due to the rigors of the

Trial.

Starting with the first day on lodge ship all new candidates were

subject to the Three Laws. Every tribal was expected to live by the Three

Laws. Dean read them carefully.

LAW ONE - No tribal may own more than he can carry on his back or be in

debt to another tribal.

LAW TWO - No tribal may harm another tribal or his environment

purposefully.

LAW THREE - Work will be the daily contribution for every tribal.

Dean read on. Kichai judges were specifically tasked with addressing

infringements of these laws. Dean saw quickly that judges had a great deal

of flexibility in dealing with infringements. A judge could rename a tribal,

 J. Scott Garibay 55

strip him of possessions, separate him from friends and family or assign him

as crossworker. Tribals could be sent to a contemplation room for as little as

one hour or as much as one year to sit and contemplate their transgression.

Every lodge ship had a number of contemplation rooms, which

contained no doors or furniture. A tribal had no contact with other tribals

while in a contemplation room. Dean reread the section explaining that a

tribal could leave a contemplation room at any time, but if she did not stay

for the time the judge suggested then she was marked as not truly wishing

to improve her behavior and could be quickly banished from the Confederacy

for even minor infringements.

Dean shook his head when he read the AC had no police force. Every

tribal was expected to follow the laws and stop other tribals from breaking

them. Kichai Judges banished a few hundred tribals each year. Solvers, Zuni

investigators, aided judges in determining the truth when tribals lied to avoid

banishment. Capital and corporal punishment were not practiced in the AC.

Banishments were not uncommon, however.

Beyond the Three Laws, recruits also fell under the Cleansing Law,

which forbid the use of drugs (narcotics, alcohol, tobacco) and sation chips. If

a recruit violated any of these laws they were immediately banished from the

AmerIndian Confederacy, shipped out and dumped at the nearest UDA

outpost. Dean marveled at the frankness of the AC data files. It stated plainly

that twenty percent of all new candidates were banished during the Trial due

to violations of the Three Laws. Another twenty-five percent of new recruits

56 AmerIndian 2192

were shipped out due to violating the Cleansing Law. Still, some junkies were

pulled through their addictions by the Trial. Most of these proved to be die-

hard tribals who served the AmerIndian Confederacy out of gratitude for

their new lives.

Recruits were put on a strict diet of fruit, vegetables and small portions

of protein. In addition all contact with non-AC personnel was forbidden. The

first two years were a tempering period that produced healthy, capable

tribals. Thirty percent of all recruits made it through this tempering. Those

who endured the tempering were embraced into the AmerIndian

Confederacy as full members of any tribe they chose. The Nez Perce received

most of the black recruits after tempering. Early on in the AC the elders

recognized that black recruits excelled as pilots. The Nez Perce tribe

naturally attracted more and more black tribals until it was comprised of

mostly black members and led by a black chief.

The AmerIndian Confederacy also actively watched for UDA spies

posing as recruits. During its twenty-eight year history four UDA plants had

confessed their identities during tempering and joined the AmerIndian

Confederacy in earnest.

Dean pulled off the comp set and rubbed the back of his neck. He was

ready to begin. The shuttle zipped between the many outrider ships that

surrounded each of the lodge ships and began to close on the largest,

Wanderer. Over fifteen hundred meters in length and sixty decks in height,

Wanderer cut an imposing figure amongst the smaller lodge ships. The
 J. Scott Garibay 57

shuttle easily maneuvered into one of Wanderer's large docking bays. The

bay was meticulously clean and unobstructed. At the side of the shuttle ten

dog soldiers in full ceremonial dress stood at attention behind AmerIndian

Confederacy officers.

A soft hiss from the airlock signaled the recruits to begin exiting the

shuttle. Stepping onto the bay's floor, Dean noticed Nez Perce bay workers

on the level below, already preparing for maintenance on the heavy shuttle.

One of the Nez Perce waved to Dean kindly when she saw him watching.

Dean did not have time to return her greeting.

“Gather round.” The old Russian stepped forward and walked slowly

down the line of new recruits. He reached the end, turned and smiled. “A fine

group of recruits, men and women worthy of the blood. Welcome one and all

to the AmerIndian Confederacy. From this moment forward your lives will cut

a swath of consequences across galaxies.

“I am Wolf Plume, Senior Guide, member of Jade Dagger Pack. In your

initial orientation, I and other guides will show you many facets of life as a

member of the AmerIndian Confederacy. I will show you the resources,

customs, people… the diversity of the greatest independent fighting force of

the twenty-second century.”

Wolf Plume noticed one of the recruits shivering despite the insulated

three-quarter length coat she wore.

58 AmerIndian 2192

“Indeed it is cold,” Wolf Plume smiled. The integrated mike on his comp

set ran his voice through the ship’s intercom system so everyone could hear

him clearly. “All AmerIndian Confederacy ships are heated only in living

quarters. This allows the energy normally allocated for heating other areas of

the ship to be diverted to propulsion, weapon systems or other necessary

functions. This is just one of many ways we make our ships more efficient

than those of the UDA.”

Dean saw tribals dressed in functional black cotton pants and

lightweight micromesh jackets already taking the recruits’ luggage off the

shuttle on anti-grav skids. Two of the dog soldiers scanned the luggage

carefully as it was loaded. The rest of the dog soldiers stood at attention,

watching the recruits.

“All of you are scheduled for a battery of tests to help the AmerIndian

Confederacy assess your strengths and weakness and begin the process of

embracing you as productive tribals. You have all traveled great distances

and overcome many obstacles to be here. Nevertheless I need to ensure that

you understand what the AmerIndian Confederacy is and why it exists.

“The AmerIndian Confederacy is the collective resurrection of the

mighty Native American nations that inhabited Earth's North American

continent for seven millennium before the year 1492. The AmerIndian

Confederacy is the product of the indomitable will of one man, Potlatch

Weaver. May Wambli carry his spirit eternally. Since the AmerIndian

Confederacy's birth in 2164, twenty-eight years ago, over fifty thousand

 J. Scott Garibay 59

tribals have given their lives in her service. Still the AmerIndian Confederacy

now stands 416,000 tribals strong.

“Our organization is simple. We are divided into eight tribes, each tribe

specializing in one service. The Apache are the army, no more or less than

the grunts that fight and win land battles. The Brule are our elite forces,

performing demolitions, assassinations as well as other tasks.

“The Diegueño are the preservationists, collecting and protecting

plants and animals assaulted by the relentless expansion of the UDA. The

Haida are the shamans of the Confederacy, healers, prophets and

Cybershamans. The stories you have heard are indeed true. They wield

incredible spiritual power. The Kichai are the merchants. They sell, buy and

invest for the Confederacy. Every cred the Confederacy accrues, and that is

no small amount, flows through them.

“The Nez Perce control our navy. They pilot and maintain the 30 lodge

ships, 620 outrider ships and 5,100 space and aero-fighters in the

Confederacy's convoy. The Tsimshian are the Confederacy's comp warriors.

They are charged with building and maintaining the Confederacy's vast comp

resources as well as penetrating and destroying those of our enemies. The

last and smallest of all the tribes is the Zuni. They are the intelligence of the

AmerIndian Confederacy, gathering and disseminating information and

disinformation from all of the inhabited galaxies. They maintain an intricate

network of spies, sympathizers and UDA traitors.

60 AmerIndian 2192

“Each of the eight AmerIndian Confederacy tribes is lead by a chief.

The chiefs are in turn advised by the five member Elder council. As can be

attested by your varied ethnic backgrounds the AmerIndian Confederacy

tribes are made up of pure blood Native Americans, as well as minorities.

There are even some Caucasians, like myself, who have sworn loyalty to her.

Once you complete the tempering period and are accepted as a tribal you

are considered equal with every member of the AmerIndian Confederacy,

whether your blood is pure Native American or lacks even a drop of Native

American lineage. The fact that the AmerIndian Confederacy has opened her

tribes to members of other races has allowed her to remain as change-

tolerant as is demanded by the times we live in.”

Wolf Plume finger tapped, the movement of each finger read by his

keying bands. “I will now send to your comp sets.” Wolf Plume transmitted a

graph statistically detailing the tribes to each recruit.

APACHE / Chief Coganthan / Service: Infantry / Total Population: 130,000 /

Lodge Ships: 10

BRULE / Chief Satyr / Service: Special Forces / Total Population: 12,000 /

Lodge Ships: 1

DIEGUEÑO / Chief Sequoya / Service: Preservationists / Total Population:

65,000 / Lodge Ships: 4

 J. Scott Garibay 61

HAIDA / Chief Auspice / Service: Healers / Total Population: 22,000 / Lodge

Ships: 1

KICHAI / Chief River Bull / Service: Merchants / Total Population: 41,000 /

Lodge Ships: 2

NEZ PERCE / Chief Rail / Service: Navy / Total Population: 54,000 / Lodge

Ships: 7

TSIMSHIAN / Chief Shakespeare / Service: Comp Techs / Total Population:

52,000 / Lodge Ships: 3

ZUNI / Chief Koqua / Service: Intelligence / Total Population: 40,000 / Lodge

Ships: 2

TOTALS / Tribes: 8 / Population: 416,000 / Lodge Ships: 30

Wolf Plume allowed the recruits a moment to scan the numbers. “But

why did the AmerIndian Confederacy form? Why do we exist? The answer is

one word. Homeland. The AmerIndian Confederacy exists to reestablish the

Homeland, the natural balance of man and nature that our ancestors enjoyed

over seven hundred years ago and for seven thousand years before 1492.

Homeland, where rivers and streams are the blood of each tribal that

inhabits the land. Homeland, where each tribal living with the land knows

damaging that land is akin to spilling his own blood. The AmerIndian

Confederacy was created to fight for our land, the North American Continent

of Earth. Homeland has been denied us for too long.

62 AmerIndian 2192

“To understand why we fight requires an understanding of what we

fight. Potlatch Weaver, the creator of the AmerIndian Confederacy, forged

the people's resolve, banded hundreds of thousands of tribals together in the

quest for harmony and peace by sheer will. He did this in response to the

actions of another man, Silus Mar. In 2056 Silus Mar transformed the United

Nations into the United Democracy Alliance. Today, the UDA stands as the

sole government of humanity, controlling thirty-five billion human lives on

Earth, eight habitable colony planets and eight hundred outposts across

seven settled galaxies. Now, why does the AmerIndian Confederacy oppose

this government?

“The primary reason the AC fights the UDA is for the return of the

North American Continent as I have said. It is important to understand the

UDA values each inch of land on Earth as though it were paved with gold. Its

true economic value is actually close to this extravagant concept. The land is

priceless because, with the exception of only Periphery radicals, everyone

wishes to live on Earth.

“There are many other reasons why the AC fights the UDA. The UDA's

treatment of Genetically Engineered Beings, the rampant corruption of the

government, particularly the Intergalactic Lottery, which the UDA uses to

double and triple tax its constituents, are just the beginning.

“The UDA does not have a balanced environmental policy. While the

UDA is taking large steps to halt the ravaging of Earth, it has allowed strip-

mining on all eight habitable colony planets. The UDA employs a standard
 J. Scott Garibay 63

policy of jettisoning refuse by the barge load into the nearest sun from all

colonies and outposts. The UDA has destroyed the two habitable planets that

had been discovered after the inception of the Core Space Policy in 2142.

They have used the destruction of two habitable planets by asteroid

targeting to declare an end to further colonization by the human race. This is

an assault on nature that the AC simply cannot ignore.

“We also believe the UDA and the megacorps have systematically

developed an economy in which most citizens are debt slaves. This situation

is compounded by the policy of icon literacy. Less than fifteen percent of the

UDA populace can read.

“For the first fifteen years of the AC we strove to make the war we

waged as bloodless as possible. The memory of the White Earth Massacre

has eroded that peaceful resolve. While Potlatch Weaver laid siege to White

Earth in 2179 with four hundred AC outrider ships, UDA Captain Gavon Lige

lead fifty prime ships to NGC 3703 where our lodge ships, filled with non-

combatants, women and children, were hidden. Lige destroyed eleven lodge

ships, slaughtering 18,000 tribals. We learned that day that just as Earth was

beyond our grasp, the separate planet of White Earth would require massive

sacrifice to even attempt to win. From that day forward we adopted

aggressive combat styles and have engaged in merc work.

“If you have come here to join us in this fight, if you are willing to

dedicate the whole of your life to these goals, I welcome you. You are

embarking on a life of purpose, friendship and beauty laced with sacrifice. If

64 AmerIndian 2192

you do not share the urgency we feel to achieve our goals or you wish only

to escape the doldrums of the UDA without giving of yourselves then I urge

you now to step forward and we will escort you to the nearest outpost.”

Wolf Plume stood silently. No one stepped forward. “Excellent, I leave

you to your next guide, Coronado, who will answer any questions you have

and continue your orientation. If any of you wish to see me during your free

hours I will be available for the next two days. Simply ping me on the comp

set or come down to Deck 36, Sector 7, where I will be spending most of my

time.”

Coronado stepped forward and addressed the group with a slight

Hispanic accent. “You are all blessed. Today, the Diegueño have brought a

unique and wonderful specimen from one of their lodge ship zoos. A perfect

albino buffalo has been born and the Diegueño are joyfully taking him to

each lodge ship so that all the tribals may enjoy seeing this precious baby.

Follow me please. It is said that Okala prophesied…”

“Brother, I applaud your clarity and sincerity.”

Wolf Plume turned to see John, Elder Wisdom of the AmerIndian

Confederacy. A thin, handsome black man, dressed plainly in dungarees, a

cotton T-shirt and an insulated, light denim jacket.

A body tank warrior loomed behind the Elder. The armor was Heavy

Hammer grade, painted in gleaming white interrupted by jagged red runes.

 J. Scott Garibay 65

The integrated helmet hid the body tank warrior’s face. A rail gun was

clutched in the neoprene and metal grip of the suit's gauntlets. A fine mist

hissed out of the helmet as the sealed environmental system cleansed the

air for the tribal inside.

“Thank you, Elder John,” Wolf Plume opened his arms and hugged the

man.

“Please, I've told you Wolf Plume, just John. Please excuse us a

moment.” At Elder John's request the body tank warrior clanked heavily away

toward the corner of the docking bay.

“Wolf Plume, you old dog. Where have you been, last three months?”

“Jade Dagger has been assigned to several missions since I have been

back. Probably seen all seven settled galaxies since I've slept in my own

berth.”

John shook his head. “Infiltration missions, right? Sneaking in and out

of UDA facilities, megacorp strongholds, blasting your way out if something

goes awry. Wolf Plume, do you know how many young bucks I have that can

take care of those tasks. Really! What are you doing flying a hopped-up

shuttle for an Infiltrator pack? I could have used you here with the convoy.

You are one of my best guides and you hardly ever teach. If you were here

with the convoy more I could start to groom you for what you really should

be doing.”

Wolf Plume smiled broadly. “I'm a pilot, not an advisor.”

66 AmerIndian 2192

“Brother, there are many questions facing the Confederacy. Celetain

Prax warns of important changes coming. I could use a brilliant, open-minded

advisor to help me through and a friend to lean on.”

“My pack needs me, John. I enjoy working with them. They're good

boys. A strong team, capable, bright.”

“That's right and I guarantee you they will remain in the prime slot

without you. Have you seen some of the cross-tribe pack drafts this year?

They are all true walkers, strong as Grizzly and wise as Owl. Give it some

thought, old man. The Elders need you more than your pack. Now we have a

few more days before the Steel Circle begins. Promise me you'll come and

take a walk with me through the viewing decks. Antares' Comet is just

coming into view.”

“I promise. I will think over your words, John. I missed our Stones

games this last year. I missed you, too.”

“Thank you, old friend. Call when you have time. We will walk.” John

hugged Wolf Plume again before exiting with his assigned body tank warrior

following closely.

Wolf Plume shook his head and walked across the bay, close to the

force field that kept the vacuum out and the artificial environment in. He

looked at the dozens of outrider ships and the other Nez Perce lodge ships

and thought of his brother and sister tribals on those ships. Wovoka, Cavaho,

Slow Turtle and his hopped-up Trighter were all he could see.
 J. Scott Garibay 67

CHAPTER 06

In the M101 Galaxy Cluster, thirty-two million light years from Earth,

UDA Admiral Lige stood on a raised dais at the center of Black Mariah’s

bridge. Below him the floor screen showed views of an AmerIndian

Confederacy outrider ship being decimated by his UDA fleet. “Titan, Atlas

and Nero adjust course to intercept the right flank. Recall all fighters and

activate Hellfire immediately.”

With that order Lige strolled down from his command position, headed

toward the anti-grav platform. “Lieutenant Brax, clean up.” He waved his

hand dismissively and exited the bridge.

His aide, Jaret Tucker, waited for him on the anti-grav platform. “Stock

portfolio is up three percent over projection for the week and seven percent

for the month. Now totaling at 1.6 billion creds. You have three priority

communiqués. One from President Sullivan. One from Delia. One from

Decker.”

Lige raised an eyebrow. “Decker first.” Jaret nodded.

68 AmerIndian 2192

“Unable to discern whereabouts of Steel Circle. Evidence leads to a

water world, most likely in the Periphery, possibly in the NGC 3218 sector.

Have learned Celetain Prax will push for a separate tribe for GEB tribals.

Reports indicate Prax is been under great stress. She has prophesied a

political upheaval in the AC and the emergence of a new leader. A list of four

AC hidden supply cache locations and two Kichai corporation fronts is

attached. Next report on 03/08/2192.”

Lige smiled. “Excellent. Dispatch one prime ship for each location

mentioned with fifty body tank troops each, twenty-five Hammer Grade,

twenty-five Nail grade. Report the corporation fronts to the UDA IRS

enforcement branch. Decker is performing well. Transfer a bonus of double

his monthly pay to his account on Earth. Read Sullivan's communiqué.”

The circular grav platform descended through circles in each deck

supported by an anti-grav system. The circles in each deck were illuminated

with blue or red denoting if the deck was currently pressurized.

Jaret began the President’s message. “Thank you kindly for your

superb work on the Zealot project. I have already filed petition for a valor

medal. I am constantly surprised by the information you are able to proffer

concerning the AC. You are my only Admiral who seems to always know the

AC's next move. I commend you on the intelligence gathering system you

have developed. Yet, I must ask why, with your ability to find hidden credit

accounts, supply caches and even battle plans, you have been unable to

supply me with the data I need most. Where is my daughter, Alexa? How
 J. Scott Garibay 69

and why was she kidnapped? When will she be returned home? I am aware

that you are solely qualified to return my daughter. Your performance in

handling AC issues has proven that competency is not the issue here. I am

beginning to doubt your dedication to this issue. The Festival begins in two

weeks. If my daughter is not safely back on Earth at that time I will be forced

to re-evaluate my support for your progress in my Navy.”

Admiral Lige stood motionless, not commenting. Jaret knew better than

to interrupt his silence. Lige did not like to be threatened. The Admiral

steadied himself, adjusting his uniform. “I will dictate a reply to Sullivan's

message tonight. Delia's communiqué, please.”

Jaret read, “Father, Thank you ever so much for the beautiful Fucara

necklace. I wear it every day. Each day when I am done with classes I go to

the observatory deck of the library. It is so beautiful, the trees and pond

remind me of home. You can see the neo-classic influence in the architecture

of the buildings on campus. I watch the dusk sky hoping to catch a glimpse

of your fleet. I look forward to your return. I have missed you. Please return

as soon as you can and above all else, be safe. Love, Delia.”

The anti-grav platform stopped and Jaret strode out, stepping over the

twelve centimeters distance between the platform and the floor of Deck 79.

Lige followed. Jaret was true samurai in every sense of the word but lineage.

He had shown on many occasions that he would lay down his life for Lige.

Jaret, now twenty-six, had served with Lige for ten years (since Lige had

been a UDA special ops platoon commander).

70 AmerIndian 2192

On a wetwork mission on Outpost Lowen Nine, Lige’s crew had taken a

wrong turn when trying to leave the sight of a successful hit. The crew was

barreling down a hallway when suddenly a small canister clinked and

skittered toward them ending up in the middle of Lige’s men. Each man

knew the thermite grenade would vaporize ten square meters. His men

skidded to a halt and stood for a short knowing second until Jaret pushed

Lige back and jumped on the grenade, yelling, “Run!”

The platoon only had enough time to turn and run a few meters before

the grenade detonated. Lige had looked back when he heard the loud hiss of

a smoke grenade. Jaret lay there with large clouds of smoke billowing out

from under him. Lige ran back, scooped him up and led him out. The smoke

temporarily blinded Jaret. Lige lost two men because of the delay Jaret's

injury caused but his respect for the boy had been forged then and there.

Jaret served as his right hand man from then on.

“What is the report from Stein?”

Jaret tapped the stylus on his datapad. “Stein reports nothing out of

the ordinary. Delia is studying hard. One of her professors has shown more

attention to her than he should, but like the other two or three suitors she

fends off each quarter, she refuses his advances and has paid him no further

attention. Her mind is on her studies. Stein's report confirms your daughter

does spend twenty or so minutes each evening watching the stars from the

library observatory decks. She misses you. Security at Yale is superb. Stein

contends he is not protecting her from any real danger. He is one of our best
 J. Scott Garibay 71

operatives. Perhaps his skills could serve us better somewhere else in the

field.”

Lige and Jaret entered the busy prison block. Two guards stepped aside

to let Lige pass. He stopped in front of a cell built like a vault.

“Stein is fine where he is. My daughter is a precious and rare creature.

Her education and growth is as important to my plans as any of our other

projects.”

He turned and faced the door of the cell. “Ace Taft nine two six.” The

thick door clicked and swung open automatically at Lige’s voice command.

Jaret followed him into a small cell. The floor and walls were all slate

grey. There was nothing in the room except a deep sleep chamber, an

ancient relic left over from the early days of space travel.

Lige opened a small hatch on the deep sleep chamber and keyed in an

opening string. The chamber hissed and the neuro-ice surrounding the

chamber's inhabitant melted to a liquid state. It drained into the chamber's

reserve tanks. The person in the chamber blinked and coughed as the lid

opened and lifted smoothly on pneumatic controls.

The chamber's occupant lurched forward, blinking and gasping. Lige

waited. Suddenly, as the figure began to breathe normally, Lige shot his

hand out grasping the person's chin, holding firmly.

“Alexa Sullivan, I have questions for you.”

72 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 07

“I think you are going to like the additions,” Kill Spotted Horse headed

up the ramp of the Trighter. “Two Sand Kings, one top, one bottom. There's a

training program on the Trighter’s comp. Should only take Slow Turtle an hour

or two. I also added thermo and twilight options to the optical package on

each of your body tanks.”

Kill Spotted Horse finger tapped a blueprint to Wovoka’s comp set view.

Wovoka’s sixty-ton transport/fighter (Trighter) was detailed at 1/20 scale.

Fifteen meters high and twenty-eight meters from keel to stern, the

Trighter had a squat, compact design. The Trighter was an amalgamation of

two distinct space-faring vessels. The chassis and frame of the Trighter were

from a UDA heavy fighter used for high power strafing runs and light

bombing missions. The rear end of the heavy fighter, nearly a third of the

entire vessel, had been chopped off. In place of the amputated rear was a

massive engine, nearly five meters in length, width and height. The engine

consisted of two gigantic heavy water hydrogen propulsion systems mounted

 J. Scott Garibay 73

on a large swivel joint. The engine was originally used to power a troop

transport ten times larger than the fighter frame it was now attached to.

This jury-rigged contraption was the brainchild of Jowato, one of Kill

Spotted Horse's underling mechanics. The Trighter, the only one of its kind in

the AmerIndian Confederacy's fleet, was Wovoka's first and only choice of

transportation for his Infiltrator pack once he had seen it. Wovoka admired

the uncompromising purpose of the Trighter - pure unadulterated speed,

sacrificing maneuverability and concealability to achieve it.

Wovoka followed Kill Spotted Horse through the entry port and into the

confines of the Trighter until they entered a small room near the rear. Four

body tanks surrounded him. Each mobile armor suit sported garish neon

patterns, except for Cavaho's unit, which was matte black. Kill Spotted Horse

smacked his hands against Wovoka's armor. “Replaced six dermal armor

plates and ran a complete overhaul of the solid state frames. It's prime.”

Wovoka stepped forward and inspected the dermal plates on his Heavy

Jaguar body tank. He finger tapped a simple command to the suit. The whole

surface of the suit changed color. The orange, red and green muted,

disappeared and all that remained was the true plasteel chrome of the body

tanks's hide. All indicator bars read normal and the performance benchmarks

were well above spec. “I can't thank you enough, Kill Spotted Horse. Superb

work.”
74 AmerIndian 2192

“Hey, no thanks necessary. Your pack earns the points necessary for

these upgrades. My pack makes it happen.”

Kill Spotted Horse walked to the cockpit and sat in one of the

comfortable command chairs. “So tell me about Naanac.”

Wovoka finger tapped. “Rep Naanac. Core data.” A visual of Naanac

appeared on Kill Spotted Horse’s comp set view. “It's a settled planet owned

and operated by Rowan Cartel. They have kept it secret from the UDA for six

years. They kept it under wraps because their settlement of the planet, if you

can call two hundred researchers a settlement, violates the UDA Core Space

Policy.

“Rowan is currently using the planet as private research outpost

station. It's sketchy what they are working on but limited intelligence we

have suggests some type of small arms, maybe a new cloaking technology.

Real trick is getting on and off of the planet. Once every year Rowan builds a

chunnel through this asteroid field that surrounds the planet. The locals call

the asteroid field ‘the Free Mantle.’ The chunnel they build is two kilometers

of flexible plasteel fifty meters in diameter. One Rowan shuttle takes all of

the research for the year back to Rowan Headquarters. The chunnel lasts for

thirty-six hours. After that the asteroid belt breaches the chunnel's structural

integrity and it is no longer passable by any ship. My pack will have a thirty-

six hour window to penetrate the Free Mantle, take our survey and get back

out before the chunnel collapses.”

 J. Scott Garibay 75

Kill Spotted Horse shook his head. “Well, the Trighter is ready. No

question. I don't think you will use the body tanks if this op is done right.

What you will need is some good tracking and mapping equipment suitable

for severe, wet weather. You are also going to need some type of trick to get

you from the chunnel down to the surface of the planet without setting off

every sensor suite Rowan will have trained on the chunnel. That's not going

to be easy.”

Kill Spotted Horse called up pictures and specs of various ship anti-

sensor devices. “I don't know, Wovoka. Even our best anti-sensor devices

won't hide the Trighter well enough with the kind of surveillance Rowan is

bound to have set up on a once-a-year entry and exit project. You're going to

have to give me a few hours on this.”

Wovoka nodded and got up. “Call me when you are ready.” He exited

and Kill Spotted Horse got to work.

Wovoka joined Slow Turtle on their regular perch, third cross beam from

the Kellion couplers of Wanderer. This vantage point gave an excellent view

of the eliminator races. Tribal youth used the inner hull of the lodge ship as a

racetrack. Large groups of male and even a few female teens dialed in their

grav boards.

The grav board races were an important activity among the tribal

youth. While Wanderer’s Nez Perce youth were awarded more freedom at the
76 AmerIndian 2192

races than elsewhere in the lodge ship, it was well known among the youth

that pack alphas often prowled the high beams checking out young tribals

soon to be recruits for their packs. Despite the AC's philosophies of

brotherhood and harmony, the grav board racers tended toward cliques. The

Elders fought against the term “gangs.” Violence erupted occasionally, but it

never escalated to weapons. A broken nose here or there, certainly. Tribals

under the age of sixteen, the age of account, were not bound by the Three

Laws AC adults were. The Elders allowed the gangs (Gothoj, Edge and Skree)

because each was a chaotic mix of youths from every tribe. Incorporating the

sons and daughters of cross-workers with ease, the gangs actually integrated

the tribes far better than any of the Elders' efforts.

A new race was about to start and Wovoka and Slow Turtle each

pointed out the young tribal they thought would win the race. The cross

beam Wovoka and Slow Turtle sat on was perpendicular to the inner hull the

grav board riders raced on. The racers had to maintain a speed of seventy

kilometers per hour to remain on the inner wall.

The clean smooth surface of plaschrome covering the inner hull walls

gleamed. At intervals of ninety meters, two-meter high structure beams

divided the surface. The beams had large holes in them by design. The grav

board riders had to dodge through these holes as they raced.

The eliminator races featured heats of thirty or forty riders accelerating

around the hull. The last racer to pass the start line was eliminated. The grav
 J. Scott Garibay 77

discs on the last racer's board automatically cut out and the young tribal fell

into loose netting just above the bottom of the hull walls.

The race began, grav racers shot out of a large open vacuum pipe

against the hull wall that was used to vent atmosphere during maintenance

of the lodge ship. The riders immediately changed their orientation ninety

degrees when they popped out of the pipe. All of the riders did this

effortlessly and accelerated their boards.

The pack of riders spread out across the wall so there would be less

crowding at the structural beam holes they each had to pass through. This

did little to reduce the carnage at the beam holes. The riders shoved,

checked and jostled each other off the boards, which was legal in eliminator

races. Grav racers fell like rain to the netting below. Half the racers were in

the nets before the second lap was finished. Once the numbers thinned the

race became more finesse than force. The riders were spaced apart and

there was room to let the boards rip. The riders darted through the beam

holes one after another.

A young Kichai led the race. He pushed his board to the point of

instability pegging out around 110 K.P.H., the maximum for the custom

designed boards. Above 110 K.P.H. and the boards became unstable and

threw their riders. If the board was made larger to accommodate more speed

it became more unwieldy and could not make the tight curves that were

critical when maneuvering.

78 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka laughed as the last place rider’s board cut off and he whirled

down to the net in an iron cross. With only ten riders left and four laps to go

it was now an all out speed race. The leading Kichai was tucked low, knees

bent, arms thrust straight as arrows behind him. The board vibrated hard

beneath him. He pulled away from his pursuers.

Three riders dropped back and another was eliminated. Wovoka and

Slow Turtle grimaced as two racers slammed together trying to get through a

beam hole simultaneously. They squeezed through, avoiding the brutal

breaking rewarded to any rider unfortunate enough to slam into the

makeshift padding that had been fitted around each hole.

The next lap took only thirty seconds with no change in position for the

riders. As the last lap began, the second place rider, a hard looking Nez

Perce, pulled next to the lead rider. The Nez Perce's board shook violently.

Both riders realized one of them had to go down or neither would make it

through the next hole. Both riders rose slightly from their crouch and braced

for an impact. Their boards scraped together, their arms flailed wildly.

The lead Kichai rider amazed his audience by jumping lightly from his

own board to his pursuer's, dislodging him. The Kichai's board and the Nez

Perce rider plummeted to the net while the Kichai racer finished the race on

the stolen board.

 J. Scott Garibay 79

Slow Turtle grinned at Wovoka. “Who would have thought a briefcase

jockey could ride like that? Let's hope his stock picks are as sound as his

riding skills.”

The next race was only a few laps in when Kill Spotted Horse climbed

up to join them. He pulled out a slate and the other two slid close to him.

In a moment all three were looking at a detailed simulation of the

upcoming mission for Wovoka’s pack. The simulation showed a Rowan

shuttle exiting a chunnel through Naanac's Free Mantle. A moment later, the

Trighter could be seen rocketing through the chunnel. The Trighter would

blast through the chunnel at a speed of 3,500 K.P.H. on autopilot. No human

would be able to pilot the sixty-ton Trighter through the fifty-meter chunnel

without a good chance of grinding the Trighter into dust with one small

mistake.

The simulation slowed and displayed a close up of the Trighter. Just

before it exited the chunnel the Trighter lit up, blazing bright white. The

human eye would see only a brilliant ball of light. The comp then switched to

a close up of a torpedo bay on the Trighter releasing a long, jet-black drone.

The drone shot out and hovered just a few meters from the Trighter. It broke

in two, dispersing sixty, twenty-centimeter spheres that shot away in all

directions, each mirroring the brilliant ball of light that was the Trighter. All

sixty dupes and the Trighter shot toward the ground. The simulation ended

abruptly.
80 AmerIndian 2192

Kill Spotted Horse shifted trying to get comfortable on the hard plasteel

of the crossbeam. “According to Zuni intelligence there's no more than thirty

aero-fighters on the entire planet. The research complex is the only man-

made structure on Naanac. There are approximately two hundred Rowan

employees and a garrison of twenty mercenary and corporate soldiers on

Naanac. Problem is that data is eleven months old and it was stolen off an

anti-UDA sub-net. It could be complete drek.”

Wovoka frowned, “So if the data is correct they won’t have near

enough man power to chase all sixty bogeys. Are you sure the drones will

fool their sensors?”

“The drones won't fail. It's all top of the line Fuchi tech, high grade.

Their sensors won't break them. All part of the Fuchi 'Northern Lights'

system. Should come in handy in other ways. If anyone looks at it from closer

than thirty meters it will blind them for over an hour. It can also flash in any

color of the spectrum and the comp can even orchestrate light patterns for

communication.”

Slow Turtle spoke up. “I've had one concern since I first looked at this

mission. What if Rowan closes the chunnel early? Won't our pack be trapped

on Naanac until another chunnel is built?”

“Impossible, “ Kill Spotted Horse shook his head. “It costs Rowan

twenty million creds to set up and charge the chunnel for thirty-six hours.

One shuttle comes in with one year of supplies and leaves with one year of
 J. Scott Garibay 81

research. Rowan will not waste twenty million creds and they will not let any

delay occur in receiving that data. Allowing the chunnel to close would mean

a delay of at least fifty days. There’s a strict schedule. Other projects rely on

this research. The chunnel closing early is simply not an option. Rowan

personnel won't close that chunnel and you can't close it either, Wovoka.

Rowan is not a UDA entity, so the AmerIndian Confederacy has no reason to

anger them. We are there to gather a few Naanac animals for study and care,

maybe some quick eco-scans, in and out, that's all.”

“No problem,” Wovoka began to stand. “It looks like a solid plan. We'll

go with it.”

Wovoka checked his comp set. “We have twenty-eight hours before go

time. The pack will go over the plan by simulator. Thank you, Kill Spotted

Horse.”

Wovoka climbed down the beams and back onto the inner hull of the

lodge ship. Kill Spotted Horse scooted closer to the edge of the beam to get

a better look at the next race. Slow Turtle quickly began to argue with him

whether the Skree were more likely to take the Golden Hoop than Edge.
82 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 08

From the top deck of the people's hall on Iron Bow Keokuk enjoyed the

stunning view of Planet MG 212. The Elders had carefully chosen the water

planet as the secret location for this year’s Steel Circle. As a periphery

planet, MG 212 was seven hundred galaxies away from the nearest UDA

colony or outpost. However, MG 212 was not a dead planet. Its endless

oceans teamed with life. The tribes could boat, fish and swim, enjoying all

the aquatic wonders the planet offered. Four of the AmerIndian

Confederacy's twenty-eight annual Steel Circles had been held here.

Apache tribals filed into the council hall. The older tribals moved down

into the closer seats where they could easily see the hard light display. The

young warriors were dressed in standard black tactical garb. The older

members of the tribe wore softer, more comfortable natural clothing of their

choice. Keokuk noticed Peshlakai enter. She was alone and moved briskly

despite her age. Only a few strands of gray broke her mane of black hair and

echoes of her youthful beauty remained.

 J. Scott Garibay 83

“Mother,” Keokuk raised his hand to help her down the stairs to sit

closer to the hard light display.

Mother and son settled in. “So, why does your brother not attend the

Steel Circle?” Keokuk suppressed a rising anger. The first words out of his

mother's mouth, after not seeing him for two weeks, were a question about

Wovoka.

“He's on an op, Mother. An important one with a limited window of

opportunity. You know he would be here if he could.”

“They're all important. I haven't seen him since January,” she brushed

a stray strand of fabric from the thick, colorful blanket that covered the top

of her pretty white dress. “But you are right. He would come if he could. They

keep him so busy, Keokuk. You would think there were no other packs for the

tribe to use. But when you're the best, you are in demand.”

Keokuk nodded without a word. This was an old song and dance, his

mother singing the praises of his brother in blatant, infuriating ignorance of

his own accomplishment. Wovoka was well known as a rising Alpha and his

pack was slated for only the most important ops in the future. But Keokuk

was, nonetheless, a Tsimshian superstar. Every tribe chief and every Elder

knew his name because every one of them had used his services directly at

one time or another. In a major comp crisis, no one but Keokuk would do.

This meant less than nothing to Peshlakai. All that mattered to her was his

broken promise to a father now thirteen years dead.

84 AmerIndian 2192

Keokuk deftly changed the subject. “Been hearing the swag about

White Earth? Word on the Tsimshian deep boards is that Stormseeker is

pushing for an acquisition assault within two seasons.”

Peshlakai chuckled, “That's silly, Keokuk. The loss of eighteen thousand

lives is not forgotten in thirteen years. Stormseeker is often over ambitious

but he is not a fool. What you speak of would be an act of a fool. UDA forces

on White Earth have tripled since the White Earth Massacre. AC forces still

need to acquire more equipment and recruits before we have the forces we

took in the first time.”

Keokuk nodded in acknowledgment. “You're probably right. Just telling

you the rumors.”

The lights in the room dimmed until only the stars shining through the

glasteel walls lit the room. At the center of the hall the hard light display

brightened and scrolling text morphed into an image of the five Elders. They

sat in a circle, facing each other, in ornately carved wooden chairs. The

image was transmitted from the Zuni lodge ship, Heidegger.

John, the Wisdom Elder, opened gatherings. His level personality set a

tone of calm before the hundreds of concerns of nearly half a million tribals

were thrown on the table.

“Friends, family, honored members of all tribes, allies to the cause,

thank you for gathering here in this far corner of the universe. For the

duration of the Steel Circle your daily tasks will be set aside, no projects to
 J. Scott Garibay 85

press you. This is your time, our time. Enjoy it; relish it. This time will pass

quickly. The Elders, of course, have much to consider and we welcome the

tribes and our allies to join us in discussion of the many issues that face the

AmerIndian confederacy.”

Keokuk observed the group of Elders. John was distinctly different from

the rest. He was the only one of the Elders who obviously had no AmerIndian

blood. He was a Black male of fifty or more years with short cropped black

hair. He now wore his distinct wardrobe by which most tribals recognized

him, a light blue pair of dungarees and nothing else. His body was

remarkably fit for a man of his age. He was barefoot.

At John's left sat Stormseeker, Elder Warrior. He had served the

AmerIndian Confederacy every day of its twenty-eight year existence. Even

now he wore light micromesh, poly-plate battle armor and a hand cannon

strapped to his thigh. A combat knife and thermite grenades hung from

hooks on his chest plate. His AmerIndian blood was evident and he wore his

straight black hair long, no braids or adornments. His face was handsome,

yet scarred in several places where combat duty has taken its toll.

Morgan Weaver, the son of Potlatch Weaver who was the father and

now guiding spirit of the AC, sat regaled in full AmerIndian Chief costume,

headdress, ornamental bone chest plate, buckskin pants and moccasins. His

father had worn these symbols well. On Potlatch Weaver these symbols were

reminders of days long past but soon to be regained. On Morgan Weaver, the
86 AmerIndian 2192

Operations Elder, they were ostentatious reminders of what was lost and

might never be recaptured.

Kugan, the Resource Elder, was dressed neatly in a simple, stylish suit.

Even now he stared blankly into his comp set ignoring John's greeting and

introduction. He was handsome with a mix of Hispanic and AmerIndian

features, approximately fifty. His well-groomed beard did little to hide his

age.

The fifth Elder stood out even among these unusual individuals.

Celetain Prax, the Elder Shaman, was the only woman among them and

younger than any by half. She was strikingly beautiful with pure blood

features. She wore a loose hunter green leather coat over a tight black

jumpsuit. Thin, black wrestling shoes covered her small feet. A string of large

diamonds circled her neck.

This remarkable necklace was one of the few surviving pieces of

evidence that Malgus IX had ever existed. The huge planet had been covered

with a layer of poisonous gas that made settlement impossible. However,

diamonds as large as escape pods could be found just twenty meters below

the surface. The UDA had twenty-four outposts that served no other purpose

than to support a brisk intergalactic diamond trade. It took UDA leaders only

three days to have Malgus IX blown into fine space dust using 127 Goliath

nukes. All reports of the planet had been stripped from UDA files and the

UDA ship that discovered the planet was attacked and destroyed by a UDA
 J. Scott Garibay 87

hunter ship. The UDA officially reported that the ship had been destroyed by

an AmerIndian Confederacy ambush.

Five Elders. Five points of power. Five voices leading the AmerIndian

Confederacy through the struggles of survival and growth. Each played a

distinct role in governing the tribes.

Morgan Weaver, who suffered the burden of his father's shadow,

played the less than desirable role of administrator. A weak leader, Weaver,

however, was a consummate politician. He held strong influence in

economic, military and religious circles. Hundreds of favors were owed him

and strong ties to the Zuni information network ensured his power. Weaver

wielded enough influence to ensure no other Elder or tribe chief could ignore

his input. He could facilitate or frustrate the plans of any of the other Elders

and often did.

Stormseeker's role was obvious. He was the warrior; revered by every

tribal warrior for the length and quality of his service to the AmerIndian

Confederacy. Stormseeker oversaw all three of the battle tribes. The chiefs of

the Apache, Brule and Nez Perce answered directly to him and he could

countermand their orders.

John, the philosopher of the group, was its center of knowledge. He

held the Elders and the tribes to a high standard. Serving as mercenaries and

bandits, it often became difficult for AC leadership to see the thin line

between freedom fighter and killer. What kept the 416,000 members of the
88 AmerIndian 2192

AmerIndian Confederacy fed, clothed and sheltered was combat and

confiscation. The AmerIndian Confederacy was preparing for a crusade to win

back the Homeland. When they were honest about it they referred to their

operations as merc work and Robin Hood justice. The UDA called it terrorism

and thievery. However the tribes viewed their work, there were serious

concerns about where the line was drawn between efficiency and savagery.

John helped all of the tribes reconcile the blood on their hands without ever

letting them forget their goals.

Merc work and confiscation of UDA property had been AmerIndian

Confederacy monkeyshines in its inception year, 2164. In 2192 it was big

business. The AmerIndian Confederacy was grossing over ninety billion creds

per year and the one man responsible for the safety and growth of those

funds was Kugan the Moneychanger. An economic genius and ruthless

business manager, Kugan was building an economic empire for the

AmerIndian Confederacy. Many tribals wondered if the economic force Kugan

wielded did not already outweigh the military might Stormseeker

commanded.

As the daughter of the greatest Shaman the AC had ever known,

Celetain Prax now held the position of spiritual leader. Celetain was also the

creator of Cybershamanism; a mixture of traditional Shamanism, Wicca,

Chinese Ancestor Worship and Yoga, all filtered and manipulated by complex

agent programs. Cybershamanism's performance had dwarfed the slow,

methodical results of traditional shamanism and ushered in a new day of

 J. Scott Garibay 89

power and influence for the Haida tribe. She was a prophet, healer and

spiritual leader. Stormseeker had attempted to remove her from the Council

several times, but failed due to her support among the Haida and the

Diegueño.

Between the five leaders a strong, flexible government was woven and

the future of the AmerIndian Confederacy rested in their hands.

John leaned forward and tapped his fingers lightly. “Our first matter

tonight is the loss of Turquoise Shark, third lodge ship of the Kichai. Currently

over thirty-one thousand Kichai are crammed into Chimera and Shoeless Joe.

The Nez Perce and the Apache have been gracious enough to accept many

temporary residents onto their lodge ships, but the situation has gone on for

eight months and their hospitality has understandably grown thin. The time

has come to execute plans to secure a replacement lodge ship for the Kichai.

The Brule strategists have set the force requirements at twenty outrider

ships and the monetary requirements at forty-five million creds.

Stormseeker, can you release twenty outrider ships for the lodge ship

acquisition at this time?”

“I am -” Stormseeker's voice was interrupted.

A young warrior, a perfect human specimen obvious to all as a clone,

stood shouting from the second tier. The hard light display shrank and shifted

its view to show him in the corner. “You have nothing available, wise and
90 AmerIndian 2192

brave Elder for acquiring new lodge ships. You made that clear to the clones

at the last Steel Circle.”

“Nez Perce Quill has spoken out of turn,” John was quick to address the

outburst. “Ex-checker, please deduct five wampum from the primary

accounts of each Nez Perce and place the units in the general education

fund.”

Quentin Low appeared on the hard light display. He was a powerful

Zuni clone and had influence to command speaking time at any Steel Circle.

“I grant two minutes of my time to my excited brother. I wish to hear the rest

of what he has to say.” Low was known as a sympathizer of Humanitace, a

radical clones right group that started in the AC then spread to hundreds of

outposts and a few colony planets.

Quill stood again. “We must be allowed our own tribe. The AmerIndian

Confederacy has been kinder and more willing to fight for the rights of clones

than any other group in any galaxy. But if we are to be considered true

brothers, true blood, we must be allowed to establish our own tribe.”

John answered this assertion quickly. “Quill, I understand your

frustration. The Elders are aware of the difficult social, religious and ethical

issues every clone faces. But since the birth of the AmerIndian Confederacy

we have strived to make an equal distribution of clones in all of the tribes in

order to strengthen and support the idea that clones are not different from

other humans. All tribes have clones just as all tribes have skinny or left-
 J. Scott Garibay 91

handed or redheaded members. Forming a tribe exclusively of clones will

only intensify the alienation we have tried so hard to eliminate.”

Many tribals nodded in agreement with John's tempered words. He was

a careful orator and a peacemaker and his words often muted the anger of

one tribal toward another.

Quill continued, his voice level. “But we are different and most of us do

not wish to deny that clear fact. We have served the AmerIndian

Confederacy with valor. We have earned the right of tribal representation; a

chief, a lodge ship, a focused occupation and the right to appoint an Elder. If

the AmerIndian Confederacy continues to deny that we are a people unto

ourselves, yet brothers nonetheless, we will be forced to separate from the

body.”

Murmurs and angry shouts rose from the crowd. Quill's statement was

the first public declaration of the clones' intent. There were clones that did

not wish to form a separate tribe but they were now a small minority. Quill

would not have made his statement if not confident he was backed by the

majority of AC clones.

The Elders were silent for a moment contemplating the magnitude of

Quill's statement. Each knew the timing of the statement was deliberate. The

Steel Circle was held only once a year and a decision on whether to allow a

ninth tribe would have to be made during this Steel Circle. If no decision was
92 AmerIndian 2192

made, Quill might make good on his threat and there would be no or few

AmerIndian Confederacy clone tribals at the next Steel Circle.

Stormseeker stood. He walked forward on the platform and pointed a

scarred finger at Quill, “Do you think, boy, that you can threaten the Elder

Council; make a political power play against the five?”

Stormseeker shook his head and paced. His left hand rested on the

massive Sledge Raider hand cannon at his side. “Quill, stand again. Do you

know how much the AmerIndian Confederacy has given to the clones; how

hard every member of this council has strived to give AC clones rights and

privileges that are unheard of on any UDA colony or outpost? In the

AmerIndian Confederacy clones are treated as equals. They have every right

afforded any other tribal. For decades the clones have fought to be equal.

The AmerIndian Confederacy was the first group in any galaxy to treat clones

as true brothers. And because the AmerIndian Confederacy's progress in

incorporating the clones is not complete enough, not fast enough, you

threaten the council with abandonment of all the tribes. You threaten to turn

away from brotherhood. You threaten each Elder; myself, Kugan, Celetain

Prax, John and Morgan Weaver as though proper discourse will be ignored; as

though the Elders will turn a deaf ear to your pleas; as though we will not

listen. So it is the clones’ decision that an ultimatum is to be leveled at the

Elders, not a discussion or communication, but threats. Is this what you think

of us, Quill?”
 J. Scott Garibay 93

Quill had no more time allotted to speak but by asking him a question

Stormseeker automatically allotted two minutes for him to answer.

Quills anger was apparent. He did not appreciate the tone Stormseeker

was using and he shook slightly. He was silent for a moment before his

muscles relaxed. “Elder, you are wise and you have never turned away a

tribal at the Steel Circle without first hearing him in full and listening with an

open heart. I spoke in anger. I conveyed the anger of my clone brothers. We

ask that the ultimatum be forgotten and that the Elders hear our request to

form a new tribe in light of the genuine wish of the clones to serve the

AmerIndian Confederacy in a new and vigorous spirit.”

Celetain Prax responded. “Thank you Quill for your words, and for your

submission to the Elders. I will insure that each Elder gives honest

consideration to the requests of the clones.”

Keokuk smiled. The Elders were wise leaders, strong when strength

was needed, caring when gentleness was needed. This confrontation with

Quill was a sign of serious unrest among the clones. The Elders would have

to make some concessions or there would be more problems. There was

already a great deal of friction between tribals and clones. Clones were

inherently stronger, more handsome or beautiful. Many were intellectually

superior and these differences caused friction. Disagreements between

tribals and clones caused inefficiency and miscommunication. Of the nine

lodge ship murders committed by tribals last year seven had involved a

clone.
94 AmerIndian 2192

But for now the issue was settled. John was already steering the

conversation back to the issue of a new lodge ship for the Kichai. Keokuk was

curious exactly how critical the need for lodge ships was. He tapped up a

data column on his comp set showing the eight tribes.

The AmerIndian Confederacy currently maintained 30 lodge ships, 620

outrider ships and 5,100 ready fighters. Since the last Steel Circle the

AmerIndian Confederacy had grown by eleven percent and the rate of growth

was increasing. At each AmerIndian Confederacy campaign the group picked

up tens if not hundreds of new member candidates. At least three new lodge

ships would be needed this year alone.

Keokuk turned his attention back to the Elders. They were now fielding

questions on the White Earth situation. As always the Brule pushed for an

attack soon, citing the fact that while the AmerIndian Confederacy had fewer

bodies than at the time of the last attack, the ships, fighters and arms were

all superior. The average AC trooper was stronger, smarter and better

trained. All of this was true, Keokuk thought to himself, but as the Haida were

quick to point out, the UDA also had better equipment and more of it than

they had eight years ago.

Thirteen years ago Potlatch Weaver led 400 outrider ships and 200,000

tribals, into battle to take White Earth as the AC's home planet. The assault

was a catastrophe for the AmerIndian Confederacy, 18,000 tribals dead in

two hours. UDA Captain Lige had found the secret location of the AC's non-

combatants and wreaked havoc on the lodge ships before they could retreat.
 J. Scott Garibay 95

Potlatch's assault on White Earth was proceeding as planned until the fleet

got the news and the tide turned. It was the single bloodiest battle of the

twenty-third century. Keokuk did not think it was time to try again. There

were still thousands of widows from the White Earth Massacre and only now

was recovery starting to be evident.

Recruitment was more a matter of turning away than accepting and

the creds were rolling in faster than they could be calculated. Keokuk felt the

AmerIndian Confederacy needed time to enjoy this prosperity before it was

once again plunged into the turmoil of full war.

The Elders spoke eloquently, each making valid points. The White

Earth debate raged for another hour and did not seem to be coming to an

end any time soon. Keokuk got up and hugged his mother before he left. He

would read the rest of the speeches on the ship server later. He had

numerous projects to get back to and talk could wait.

96 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 09

On the surface of Naanac in the Canes Venatici Supercluster, twenty-

five million light years from Earth, Wovoka stood motionless as the wind

whipped his thin coat around his legs. His three pack brothers climbed

carefully over the rock ledge behind him and struggled to their feet, fighting

the gales that lashed about the top of the mountain. A thick mist fell steadily

and the stone they stood on was slick.

Seven hundred meters separated Wovoka's pack from the Trighter. The

ascent had not been easy and even the magnificent view spanning hundreds

of kilometers in all directions did little to lift the men's spirits.

The entry run onto Naanac had gone exactly as Kill Spotted Horse had

described it. The drones worked perfectly and even now, six hours after the

Trighter had touched down on the damp surface of Naanac, Rowan

atmosphere fighters streaked low across the jungle tops looking for the

intruders.
 J. Scott Garibay 97

“Zuni op data says the weather is usually like this.” Wolf Plume had to

lean close to Wovoka to be heard over the blustery weather. “Wet and windy,

ten months out of the year. But the temperature stays moderate, no extreme

heat or cold. Swampy on the ground, due to all the rain.”

Wovoka did not reply. He studied the view carefully. They stood on the

summit of a small mountain, one in a long range of larger mountains,

overlooking Cartel Base Nurai, Rowan's research facility on Naanac. Thirty-

five kilometers from where they watched, and far below, massive illuminator

rigs mounted around Cartel Base Nurai made the structure visible.

The base was the only man-made thing in view. As far as Wovoka could

see the planet's terrain was covered in dense, grey foliage. When the pack

landed two kilometers from the mountain he had noticed the compact grey

moss that shrouded nearly everything. The trees, which stood from ten to

thirty meters tall, had the same grey color. The leaves of the trees were one

to three meters wide. From his vantage point on top of the mountain,

Wovoka could now see small lakes, five to ten kilometers apart.

Overall, Naanac left Wovoka with an ominous impression of a planet

rich with life and yet utterly dank and empty.

“Give me the scope from the rail gun.” Wovoka yelled the order over

the wind to the pack's sniper, Slow Turtle.

Slow Turtle took off his pack and placed it on the ground gently.

“What's got you so locked, Wovoka? Let's scoop up some Naanacian

98 AmerIndian 2192

bunnies, birds and bugs and get rolling.” He unclipped the rifle strap and

removed the sight, “The sooner we are off this mud ball the better.”

Wovoka took the sight, squatted and motioned for his men to move in

around him.

“Your heart is weak today, Slow Turtle. Is a little cold and rain enough

to soften your warrior spirit?” Wovoka smiled, poking at Slow Turtle's chest.

“All right, Slow Turtle has a point. Let's get to work.” Wovoka put one knee

down on the slick stone, resting his arms on his upright knee. “Six hours

since footfall. That gives us thirty hours before the chunnel is impassable.”

Wovoka opened his thin coat and snapped the rifle sight into a holding

latch on his armor breastplate for later use. “I want you to gather as many

Naanacian animals as is safely possible. Obviously, avoid taking any babies

or wounded or sick animals. Try to think like a Diegueño as you work. Any

data you can collect that would fit within the scope of a standard eco-scan

will be helpful. Wolf Plume, monitor Cartel Base Nurai and the Trighter as you

work. Cavaho, I want you to focus on getting a larger predator type creature.

Split up for eighteen hours, then rendezvous back at the Trighter at exactly

0200 hr, tonight.”

Cavaho was throwing a line down below to check the north face of the

mountain before Wovoka finished. Wolf Plume and Slow Turtle steeled

themselves for eighteen hours of hard work.

 J. Scott Garibay 99

A twenty-centimeter, triangular double-edge blade slid from Wovoka's

armored wrist guard. He cut a thick piece of pemmican from his ration and

chewed vigorously. He had collected a few small reptile specimens during his

fourteen hours of work. He would eat and catch an hours rest before heading

back to the Trighter.

Wovoka took pride in working harder than he worked any of his men.

His father, Stone Rain, had passed down this leadership philosophy.

Collecting animals on the mountain was difficult work in the steady

mist of rain. The mist had been constant since Wovoka's pack, Jade Dagger,

had landed on Naanac. The rain showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

It was not cold enough to use the personal heaters inside his armor to keep

his fatigues dry and Wovoka had to stop every other hour to wring out his

sopping clothes and redress.

After finishing his daily ration, Wovoka set up a makeshift shelter

against the mountain. The shelter consisted of one waterproof sheet, staked

securely into the mountain wall. The sheet created a slope to carry off the

water. Under the shelter, he made himself as comfortable as possible against

the rock.

Thinking back on the day, Wovoka tried again to answer the question

haunting him. What was so special about this planet? Naanac was the single

most unimpressive inhabitable planet he had ever seen. Other than the

unusual animals of particular interest to the Diegueño there was little else of
100 AmerIndian 2192

value. Wovoka felt much like Slow Turtle and Wolf Plume. Naanac was about

as appealing as a midnight guard stint after a twelve hour march. The

answer eluded him.

An hour later Wovoka awoke to the beeping of his field slate and broke

camp. He climbed to a new ledge, pulled the slate out of his jacket and set it

in tracking mode. The omni-directional tracker took only a few seconds to

pinpoint the locations of his men. Wolf-Plume was on the other side of the

mountain eight hundred meters down and to the west. Slow Turtle was three

hundred horizontal meters from Wovoka's position. Cavaho was six hundred

meters down and two hundred meters east of Wovoka's position. Their

positions told Wovoka his men were executing his orders despite any second

thoughts they might have.

Forcing himself to put aside the pervasive question of his sleep,

Wovoka freed his mind for the work ahead.

Preparing to descend the mountain, Wovoka readied his equipment; a

drill grappling hook, two hundred meters of two thousand kilogram test

plasti-line and a motor saddle. Thirty meters to his right and eighty meters

below was a wide, flat ledge, a perfect platform to finish his last few survey

calculations.

Wovoka clicked on the drill grappling hook and held it as he climbed

two meters above the small ledge on which he had been standing. Once

safely above, he dropped the drill grappler to the ledge below. The drill
 J. Scott Garibay 101

grappler whirred and skittered across the ledge sending out short quick

sensing beams, searching for a solid hold. The drill grappler shot out three

tempered steel prongs, trailing ultra-thin steel lines. Each prong easily cut

five centimeters into the rock floor creating a strong anchor to hold Wovoka's

climbing line.

Wovoka clipped the plasti-line to the coupler on the drill grappler, and

yanked hard on the line. It held. The plasti-line was translucent red, only half

a centimeter thick and weighed next to nothing. The two hundred meters of

plasti-line Wovoka carried was standard issue for AC Infiltrators.

The motor saddle looked very much like a dark green adult diaper,

except for an eight by eight centimeter box on the front top of the

waistband. The box contained a small but powerful motor to pull or let out

the thin plasti-line. The plasti-line was slowly let out of a clear plastic pouch,

which ran around the waistband of the saddle. All together the drill grappler,

the plasti-line and motor saddle were an efficient climbing system.

It had taken Wovoka four weeks to master the use of the unit early in

his training as an Apache mercenary. Let out too much slack and find

yourself brutally slammed against the cliff face you were climbing. Pull in too

fast and the rig would jerk you up side down.

Wovoka slipped down the mountain face with a grace that eluded

many experienced climbers. In moments he repelled half the forty meters he

102 AmerIndian 2192

needed to descend to reach the next point on his geological survey. He

stopped for a moment to give his muscles a chance to rest.

His legs stretched out before him against the mountain, he leaned at a

steep angle. Wovoka closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh as he wiped

moisture from his face with a gloved hand.

Tek, tek, tek. Tek, tak, tak. Tek, tek, tek.

Wovoka could not remember the last time he had been frightened. He

had come close to death many times since he began active service as an

Apache mercenary at the age of sixteen; twelve years ago. But as the he

slowly looked over his shoulder, he was startled.

A six legged insect with a body a meter wide tek, tek tekked its way

along the mountain four meters below Wovoka. Its legs spread nearly three

meters out from its body, each leg ending in a wickedly sharp, slightly curved

claw. The creature had hooked itself into small crevices on the mountain

face. The thing's body was a dark reddish-black and its hind section looked

fat with curious bulges. Wovoka guessed the creature might be pregnant.

Unlike any insects he had ever seen, however, the thing was covered with

short hair.

Wovoka's footing held on the slick black stone of the mountain. The

massive insect-thing suddenly turned its head, its four dark eyes meeting

Wovoka's, locking his gaze.

 J. Scott Garibay 103

Wovoka was glad he had not made any sudden movements. The

creature could easily have closed the four meters between them for an

attack. He did not break eye contact with the thing, but as the first seconds

of shock passed he reached for the Sledge Raider at his side.

The creature moved its large head from side to side erratically,

assessing Wovoka's threat. After five long seconds, the creature clacked the

four mighty pincers under its eyes and let out a low chitter. It tek, tek, tekked

one of its forward claws at Wovoka as a final warning and turned away to

continue toward its target.

Wovoka knew exactly what the creature had meant by its warning and

he had no intention of ignoring the insect-thing's wish for him to leave it

alone. He relaxed the slightest bit and undid the saddle-lock on the plasti-

line. Once he readied himself to move he turned again to look over his

shoulder at the insect-thing.

The creature, now oddly appearing larger to Wovoka, despite the fact

that it was farther away, moved incredibly fast over the wet stone of the

mountain. The incline of the mountain, at least 120 degrees seemed to have

no effect on the movement of the creature. In only the few seconds it had

taken Wovoka to switch off the plasti-line lock, the thing had covered a

surprising distance.

And then Wovoka saw what the creature was heading toward. Just

before the creature was a nest of twigs and brambles, set in a lightly
104 AmerIndian 2192

shadowed crag of the mountain. All shadows on Naanac were slight because

of the grey cloud canopy that hung constantly in the sky screening the

planet's sunlight.

Wovoka had read how Earth birds made open nests in trees, nests

shaped like bowls. This nest was more extensive, built to protect its dweller

from all directions. The nest was built more like a spherical cage, with small

openings here and there.

Wovoka could just make out a flash of blue underneath all of the nest's

protective branches and twigs. After pulling down his comp set and

increasing visual magnification Wovoka saw bright luxuriant blue feathers,

confirming the prey hidden beneath the brambles was a Naanacian Creose.

Wovoka watched silently. The insect-thing was about to eat the bird.

Leaning at a steep angle against slick mountain stone, Wovoka continued to

watch intently as the insect-thing made its way toward the brambled nest

cage.

The insect-thing was now a meter from the nest. With blinding speed it

thrust out one of its clawed legs, raking at the brambles to expose its prey.

Wovoka's eyes widened as he watched the bird move with equal speed to

bite the leg that attacked its nest. Surprisingly, the brambles did not snap

under the great strength of the creature's clawed leg. Instead the brambles

exhibited resilience, stretching and bending away from the thing's claw,

successfully protecting the bird.

 J. Scott Garibay 105

The insect-thing chittered and snapped its pincers in rage at the

Naanacian bird. The Creose bit at the invader's claw as it continued to tear at

the elastic twigs and branches of the nest. After four more swipes, the insect-

thing backed away from the nest and zigzagged its head, tekking in

frustration.

As Wovoka leaned back on the rope and Naanac's rain covered his face

he suddenly saw with a clarity he had never before experienced.

Wovoka let Naanac show him its secret.

The slick stone did not impede the movement of the creature. It stood

on slanted stone, tek, tek, tekking impatiently. Only a few seconds were

needed for the creature to recoup its nerve for a second assault on the nest

and its prey.

Moving in a broken pattern, the creature closed on the bird. Instead of

stopping at a safe distance to tear at the nest with one or two of its legs, the

creature charged at the nest, screeing its anger into the moist air. The insect-

thing's shriek echoed off the mountain, as prey and predator readied for the

assault.

Wovoka concentrated on the motion around the nest. Claw legs locked

onto the mountain, the creature was now directly on top of the nest, virtually

covering it with its bulbous mid-section.

The bird was fluttering its wings furiously inside the nest and vying for

a position to strike at the insect-thing.

106 AmerIndian 2192

With pincers powerful enough to cut through bone, the insect-thing

ripped twice at the nest, tearing a large hole in the branches, exposing the

bird.

And then the bird struck.

The Creose dodged over and up, just out of reach of the grinding

pincers, and with a jab of its beak plucked one of the four insect-thing’s eyes,

whole, from its head.

Wovoka saw the ugly results of the beautiful bird's attack.

The insect-thing let out a scree of agony as its forward legs skittered

out of their holds. The pain had loosened its grip on the mountain for a

fraction of a second, enough to send the creature into a frantic attempt to

secure itself. It's frenzied attempt only served to dislodge its other holds on

the mountain. Tumbling down the mountainside, thick yellow fluid trailed

after it in long, wet strings from the creature's eye socket.

The insect-thing caught itself after falling twenty meters. Two of its legs

had been snapped off in the fall. The same thick, yellow fluid glopped from

its body to the ground below. Its pincers slowly closed together as it bore the

pain that shot through it. Looking up slowly at the bird, and then Wovoka, the

creature chittered softly in defeat. It turned and made its way down the

mountain cautiously, painfully.

Stunned by the speed of the battle he had just witnessed, Wovoka

continued to stare as the bird simply fluttered its wings gently and settled
 J. Scott Garibay 107

again in the battered nest. The bird began to return the brambles carefully

back to where they had been.

At that moment Wovoka realized exactly why he had been brought to

Naanac. At that moment Wovoka saw what he was meant to see.

And he knew.

Wovoka knew that what he had just watched would change his life. It

would change the destiny of the AmerIndian Confederacy and the future of

this wet, desolate planet. Wovoka put a name to what he saw in the

brambles of the bird's nest.

The Free Mantle.

108 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 10

The entrance ramp hissed as hydraulics lowered to let Wovoka into the

Trighter. He hauled in the Naanac specimen spheres he had collected and

removed his gear.

Hanging his wet coat on a nearby hook, Wovoka was relieved to be out

of the dank atmosphere of Naanac. The silence in the Trighter was a refuge

from the constant howl of the powerful winds that whipped across Naanac's

surface.

He made his way slowly to the three-seat cockpit of the

transport/fighter. Kill Spotted Horse, at Wovoka's request, had programmed

the ship server to begin all diagnostic checks and take-off preps

automatically when someone entered a valid access code to board the

Trighter after a long crew absence. The bridge was a cacophony of beeps as

he slid into one of the padded control chairs.

 J. Scott Garibay 109

The Trighter’s status came up on his own comp set and he was pleased

to see all was in order. The comp set reported a warning of slightly higher

chances of mechanical malfunctions, due to Naanac’s moist atmosphere.

Wovoka tensed when his comp set displayed a perimeter breech alert.

He set the Trighter's sensors into tracking mode, quickly ascertaining the

location and environment status of all three of his Infiltrators. Cavaho was at

the three hundred meter perimeter and making his way to the Trighter. Wolf

Plume was coming in from the east just a half-kilometer behind. He carried

two small spheres, each containing an animal specimen for the Diegueño

zoo. Slow Turtle was still a good eight hundred meters behind Wolf Plume and

did not appear to be carrying any specimen spheres. Wovoka chuckled to

himself as he watched Cavaho step carefully into the clearing. He was

carrying an unconscious Naanacian predator specimen slung over his

shoulders.

Wovoka disengaged the perimeter targeting system and finger tapped

a command to lower the entrance ramp. Wolf Plume arrived at the Trighter a

half-hour behind Cavaho. The two Infiltrators helped Wovoka set the

navigation coordinates for the atmosphere jump they would make when Slow

Turtle arrived.

Some time later, Slow Turtle breathed a heavy sigh and slumped onto

one of the crash couches. “What a mud ball,” he groaned as he painfully put

his stiff legs up on a hydro-tool container. “I can't believe they call this a

humanly habitable environment. Miserable!”

110 AmerIndian 2192

“Complete lock down in ten minutes,” Wovoka growled as he kicked

Slow Turtle's feet off the container.

Slow Turtle got up and shed his wet gear. The Infiltrators removed their

armor and placed it in their respective lockers. They safetied their weapons

and placed them in special compartments above their armor.

Wolf Plume made a quick but thorough manual check of all the hatches

on the Trighter making sure each one was secured.

Cavaho made his way back to the cockpit and ran a systems check on

the engine, weapons and controls. All read clean and ready. Slow Turtle

began his diagnostic of the tower turret, his station. The Sledge CZ40

Defender Laser was primed and the sights adjusted in seconds.

All preparations made, Wovoka, Cavaho and Wolf Plume slid into the

control seats in the command pit on the second deck. Slow Turtle fastened

the harnesses to keep him steady in the pivoting tower turret seat. He

snugged his gloves and undid the red safety caps on the CZ40 Defender's

triggers. Finally, Slow Turtle pulled on his comp set which among many other

functions kept him in constant contact with the command pit.

Wovoka smiled. “We are going home, brothers, and with more than we

came here for.”

“What op were you on?” Wolf Plume asked, confused by Wovoka's

enthusiasm. “All we have is a small number of animal specimens and a slag

heap of analytic data on what has to be the sorriest habitable planet ever
 J. Scott Garibay 111

found. Thank the spirits Rowan Cartel didn't have to spill any blood over this

wasteland. Plus, Wovoka, you haven't seen our reports yet.”

“Ah, but you have not seen what I have seen, Brother. Naanac's

precious secret,” Wovoka said with excitement.

“All of this is for nothing if we can't get this flying brick through what's

left of the chunnel.” From the tower turret, Slow Turtle's voice came in clear

over everyone's comp set.

“Righto,” Wovoka said. “We have a difficult task ahead, lets get to it.

But first we will ask Wambli, the eagle spirit, to carry us through safely.”

“The songs,” Wolf Plume said, his words laced with his memories. He

thought back to Cale, the UDA outpost in the Carina System. That was the

last place Wovoka had led the songs, the last time he had invoked the power

of the spirits to guide Jade Dagger, protect the Apache Infiltrator pack.

Wovoka, Wolf Plume and Slow Turtle had sung with all their hearts to Wambli

that day. They had sung together for strength and courage as they prepared

for a dangerous orbital dogfight with UDA forces. Fourteen AmerIndian

Confederacy tribals died that day. Twelve of those fourteen were AmerIndian

Christians who had not sung.

Wovoka rarely used the songs anymore. Few AmerIndians called the

spirits anymore, not since the White Earth Massacre in 2179. The AmerIndian

Confederacy’s loss that day was not the sole reason for the turning away

from the AmerIndian faiths, however. Many AmerIndians were turning to

112 AmerIndian 2192

Christianity, some to Islam. Both religions forbid the songs. Wovoka's

brother, Keokuk, had converted to Christianity at the age of fifteen,

infuriating his father, Stone Rain.

There was a rift between Wovoka and Keokuk over religion. Wovoka

cursed his brother for turning his back on his heritage and the beliefs of their

forefathers. Keokuk, in turn, railed against Wovoka, asking him how he could

worship and put his faith in a religion with no written text, only word of

mouth, as its basis. Wovoka thought of the difficulty Celetain Prax, Elder

Shaman, had in dealing with AmerIndian Christians that questioned her

creation and practice of Cybershamanism.

But here and now, Wovoka was calling his Infiltrators together in song,

the song of the eagle, the cloud toucher. Wolf Plume felt pride in his pack

leader, a true tribal in honor and spirit. Slow Turtle was pleased as well for he

had missed the songs.

“Wambli, Wambli,” Wovoka began the song, pulling the words from his

heart through his lungs. “I am one with you, cloud toucher.”

Wolf Plume joined in. Cavaho swayed with the rhythm in silent

companionship with his brothers. Wolf Plume, Slow Turtle and Wovoka's

voices blended as they closed their eyes to see Wambli.

Slow Turtle had clicked off his comp set, which linked him audibly to

the command pit. He let the mellow voices wash over him as the song

echoed up through the ship to the tower turret. It had been too long since
 J. Scott Garibay 113

they had joined in the song, too long since they had called upon cloud

toucher to guide them. A tear of joy rolled down Slow Turtle's cheek and he

refused to wipe it.

“Wambli, Wambli,” the three Infiltrators sang fervently, “carry me to

your nest. Carry me high and far. Wambli, Wambli,” they sang in harmony. “I

see from your eyes. You carry my heart.”

The Trighter's engine crackled hesitantly to life. Heavy water poured

slowly into the engine as it began its low dull throb, which would intensify to

an ear-splitting howl once the engine was powered up. A brilliant white flame

flared a few inches out from the burner’s surface.

Wolf Plume finger tapped to disengage all of the ground safeties for

flight. “Atmosphere jump initiated,” he said evenly. “Check harnesses. Lift off

in five seconds. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Engage,” Wolf Plume said. The

final word gave no hint of the explosion of speed and force it signaled.

Like a charging bear crashing through the brush, the Trighter burst into

motion. Wolf Plume instantly yanked the control stick up with his left hand,

just popping the Trighter over the forty-meter ceiling of Naanac jungle

canopy. He leveled again with a quick shove of the stick and the Trighter shot

across the landscape, three meters above the trees.

Wolf Plume stared ahead intently. He ignored most of the data

blossoming on his comp set and allowed experience and instinct to guide
114 AmerIndian 2192

him. The Trighter, five seconds after clearing the trees, rocketed along at a

steady four thousand K.P.H.

The mountain range where the Infiltrator pack had done its work

flanked the Trighter on the left. Wovoka used the range to hide the Trighter’s

brilliant white stream of afterburn from the Cartel Base Nurai. The mountain

range extended 130 kilometers from the point the Trighter had lifted off.

“We have two minutes of mountain cover from Nurai's sensors. Cut for

atmosphere break at my signal,” Wovoka said as he now focused on his

comp set. The Trighter burned straight as a laser over the trees. Cavaho

monitored the engine's heat and watched for glitches in other ship systems.

A calm came over Wovoka, a knowing-as-one-who-remembers flooded

his mind expelling the tension and anxiety that usually accompanied

atmosphere jumps. He checked the data one more time to confirm the cut

point and jump velocity. But Wovoka's mind was already past the Naanac

atmosphere through which his ship now tore. His only thought was the Free

Mantle.

“Mark 65,10,” Wovoka announced to Wolf Plume. “Twenty seconds to

cut. Prep for G.”

Wolf Plume entered the data into the ship's server. Unlike the rest of

the pack, Wolf Plume did not see Naanac's trees and sky in gray. The comp

set turned everything in his sight into bold, bright red lines trimming the

edges of all solid objects in his view. Larger geographic objects were easily
 J. Scott Garibay 115

discernible from each other, even as they whizzed by at just over Mach

Three. A bright green line showed Wolf Plume the true horizon and as soon

as he entered the coordinates a long, bright white line appeared in his sight,

tracking down to a circled white X, the cut point. The white line grew shorter

and shorter as Wolf Plume twitched his fingers above the control stick

waiting for the correct second to pull the Trighter into a sharp curve, sending

it straight up through the ninety kilometers of Naanac's atmosphere, through

the Free Mantle and into the cold vacuum of space.

The white X winked into Wolf Plume's vision. He jacked the control stick

without hesitation. Wolf Plume broke the Trighter's horizontal B-line and sent

it hurtling upward at a steep eighty-five degree angle. The giant swivel

mount on the engine cracked like a whip and the hammer/anvil force

smashed each pack member deep into his seat.

Wovoka quickly called out the next set of coordinates. “Mark twenty-

five, five,” he shouted. “Second cut in forty seconds.”

The atmosphere jump from Naanac was significantly different than the

atmosphere jumps Jade Dagger usually executed. The Trighter had been

specifically equipped for running Confederacy Infiltrator missions. Wovoka’s

pack would normally punch straight through from space to a planet's surface.

Capable of fast descent through a planet's atmosphere, the Trighter could set

down on most planets in two minutes or less. The ship was equipped with a

unique hull that created a nimbus effect in descent. To the untrained,

unaided eye the Trighter in descent appeared to be a shooting star or a

116 AmerIndian 2192

meteorite. Planetary departures were usually equally simple. One minute or

two in the air and the Trighter had pierced the atmosphere border straight to

vacuum, with an easy coast to their AC outrider ship rendezvous point from

there. But Naanac was different because of the Free Mantle.

Wolf Plume's comp set showed what was invisible to the others. A

bright white line showed the veteran pilot exactly where the cloud canopy

started. It took the Trighter eighty-two seconds to traverse the sixty-five

kilometers from Naanac's surface to the edge of its atmosphere. The top

twenty-five kilometers of Naanac's atmosphere consisted almost entirely of

cloud canopy.

The white line indicating the inner edge of the canopy flashed and

disappeared on Wolf Plume's comp set as the Trighter rocketed through the

thick watery clouds. Red filled Wolf Plume's view and all of the bright lines

except the cut line blanked, just as dark gray clouds filled the other three

Infiltrator's view through the glasteel panes of the ship.

The dark gray view lasted a moment as the Trighter entered the clouds

and burst through the other side. Wovoka, Cavaho and Slow Turtle looked up

from their instruments to gaze at the incredible sight before them… the Free

Mantle.

Wolf Plume reflected that this was the strangest point in any

atmosphere jump, where the atmosphere of the planet starts to blend with

the cold vacuum of space. A place where that which sustains life ends and
 J. Scott Garibay 117

that which ends life begins. This was the point where the pull of gravity cut

off and the ship catapulted into a realm where the meanings of weight,

friction, up, down, night, day became null; space in all it's odd and wondrous

glory.

The abrupt change from gravity to space pulled at the stomachs of the

Infiltrators and each concentrated to let the strange sensation pass without

losing their last meal.

The Free Mantle came into view, an artificial sky blocking the black

void of space. Huge asteroids smashed against each other. Millions of free

floating rocks jostling about in the orbit of Naanac. Each asteroid glistened

from reflective specks of minerals embedded in their surface. This shine

carried the light from nearby stars through the Free Mantle to Naanac's

surface. The Free Mantle was a chaotic tangle of tumbling rocks flying across

each other's paths, striking each other in brilliant flashes.

Wolf Plume watched, amazed at the violence of the Free Mantle, the

natural barrier for Naanac. It was an asteroid cage separating the planet

from space. The Free Mantle effectively stopped anything from coming or

going from Naanac to space. The two-kilometer thick asteroid field

completely surrounded the planet.

Glancing at data on his comp set, Wolf Plume saw the second cut was

only fifteen seconds away at current velocity. He gritted his teeth realizing

how close he had come to missing the signal. The old Russian sat back in his
118 AmerIndian 2192

seat readying himself for the sudden directional change about to come. This

cut would be easier because of the absence of Naanac’s gravity. Counting

down the last seconds to the cut, Wolf Plume hoped Rowan’s chunnel

through the Free Mantle was still intact.

Wolf Plume deftly cranked the control stick and forced the Trighter onto

it's new course, a parallel orbit around Naanac just ten kilometers below the

Free Mantel's perimeter. The Trighter's trail burned bright as it continued at

its four thousand K.P.H. pace.

“Safe orbit established,” Wolf Plume reported. “Chunnel point 320

kilometers directly ahead. Beginning negative acceleration now.”

Cavaho watched his comp set view closely as the ship comp showed

exactly how much power the engine was exerting and how much stress the

ship's fighter frame was taking. The second cut had rattled the ship's frame

quite a bit because of the small amount of time between it and the first cut.

Finger tapping, Cavaho quickly worked the points that had been stressed the

most.

Because the transport engine was a dozen times more powerful than

any engine that would properly fit the Trighter’s heavy fighter frame, Kill

Spotted Horse had to tighten the frame where extreme maneuvers had

jerked joints, couplings and rivets loose after each Jade Dagger Infiltrator

run. Maintenance on the Trighter was a nightmare for the Nez Perce's tech
 J. Scott Garibay 119

packs on Wanderer. Without comps to accurately pinpoint where the work

needed to be done maintenance would be impossible.

As the Trighter slowed, Slow Turtle shifted the view on his comp set. It

flashed to life and a blue hue filled the Infiltrator's vision. Target information

and weapon diagnostics scrolled down the right lens. Slow Turtle looked at

the Free Mantle. Instantly his view was filled with hundreds of bright white

lines circling each asteroid as they chaotically hurtled along. Slow Turtle

squinted and finger tapped commands to the ship’s server, negating the

asteroids as legitimate targets. The bright white lines dimmed and a set of

red cross hairs came up in their place.

Slow Turtle steeled himself. He knew the Trighter’s orbital course (a

necessary danger because of the Free Mantle) and slowing down to get

through the chunnel were maneuvers that exposed the ship to Rowan

sensors on Cartel Base Nurai. Odds were Rowan had one or two atmosphere

fighters stationed there. Nothing Slow Turtle couldn't handle, but still a

concern.

The Trighter's forward burners ignited, pushing the Trighter backwards,

reducing its speed. Dropping from four thousand K.P.H. down to six hundred

in just two kilometers the ship was now ready to take the sharp turn that

would take it through the two-kilometer long chunnel out to open space.

Slow Turtle felt the forward burners disengage and read through Cavaho’s

data burst on his comp set. Frame stress was high, but there was plenty of

reserve fuel.
120 AmerIndian 2192

Slow Turtle continued to scan the skies for atmosphere fighters. He

envied Wovoka who had much less to do now that both atmosphere jump

cuts were successfully completed. Wolf Plume also had it easy now, Slow

Turtle thought to himself. The sharp cut up into the chunnel, a maneuver

done just below the speed of 1,000 K.P.H., could be handled by direct comp

control without any pilot code or input from Wolf Plume.

Slow Turtle continued scanning and was the first to see it - the first to

realize how desperate the pack's situation had become. “By the spirits,” he

whispered. He finger tapped, opening the line to his pack mates, “Wovoka,

magnify your current course bubble. We got code-red with a vengeance.”

The image on Slow Turtle's comp set told the whole story in a second.

He blinked, hoping what he saw would change. The chunnel was crushed.

Twenty-four hours ago Wovoka had snuck his pack through the chunnel

only minutes after Rowan brought in a two-man courier ship from Earth. The

chunnel was a temporary exit created whenever Naanac inhabitants had to

get their research off planet, back to Rowan facilities on Earth. It took two

hundred Rowan workers in vac-suits twenty-eight hours to build the chunnel

through the width of the Free Mantle. High-energy deflector shields were

used to protect the flexible chunnel as it was built. The project cost Rowan

millions of UDA credits.

When Jade Dagger leader Wovoka brought his pack through the

chunnel, just after Rowan work crews packed up their deflector shield
 J. Scott Garibay 121

generators and headed back to base in their cumbersome work transport

vessels, he had marveled at what an incredible accomplishment the chunnel

was. The deflector shields repulsed most of the asteroids surrounding the

chunnel quite effectively while the Rowan work crews were building. It had

taken hundreds of shields and a great deal of energy. Wovoka had gone over

the numbers with Kill Spotted Horse before the op and seen that thirty-six

hours was the time it would take for the chunnel to collapse under the

constant pounding of the Free Mantle.

When the chunnel was bombarded by larger asteroids, even the

deflector shields could not turn away all of the force being exerted on it. The

chunnel’s flexible design absorbed most of the remaining force, allowing the

chunnel to bend and then toss the large asteroids away from the structure.

Secretly entering Naanac had been straight forward for Wovoka's pack.

Kill Spotted Horse's sensor dupe rig had taken care of any sensor activity

from the planet's surface (since the Trighter’s normal shooting star guise

would not work on Naanac). Rowan operated no sensor arrays or satellites

outside of the Free Mantle. Once the work was completed on the chunnel and

the courier ship passed through, there was no one watching the chunnel.

Thousands of light years away from the nearest inhabited planet, the

last thing Rowan personnel expected was someone coming through the

chunnel. The structure was simply left to be destroyed by the Free Mantle.
122 AmerIndian 2192

But Kill Spotted Horse had been wrong in his calculations of the

chunnel’s strength. He had estimated it would take thirty-six hours for the

Free Mantle to completely break all of the chunnel's flexibility and crush it.

Wovoka's pack was scheduled to covertly pass through the chunnel, take

animal specimens for the Diegueño and be out again within twenty-four

hours, before the chunnel would sustain significant damage. The chunnel

had actually been completely crushed just fourteen hours after the Trighter

went though into Naanac's atmosphere.

Now the chunnel appeared on Wovoka's comp set battered down to

shattered plexi-carbon and crumpled resisteel I-beams. The chunnel,

originally three hundred meters in diameter, was now smashed from end to

end with the largest openings spanning two to three meters in diameter.

Most sections of the chunnel were crushed to a thin metal straw only a half-

meter wide. The natural power of the asteroid field had ravaged the

manmade intrusion.

Sparks of light showed in Wovoka's view as the asteroids continued to

roam in their ceaseless chaos. Without a word, Wovoka popped his chair

harness loose and quickly exited the command pit.

Wovoka jogged down the tight hallway a few meters, then leaned

against the wall. He covered his face with his hand and closed his eyes as he

slid down to crouch against the wall. He struggled to clear his head. Pushing

aside his fear and his anger, he began to rifle through options.
 J. Scott Garibay 123

The chunnel was now completely destroyed leaving no plausible way to

get the Trighter back to the rendezvous point. Even as poor as Rowan's

security was, it certainly wouldn't take them longer than ten more minutes to

sight the Trighter. The Trighter could not evade pursuit fighters in Naanac's

atmosphere for long.

Wovoka did not have to think about what would happen if he or any of

his pack were captured. Rowan could not have witnesses to their secret

haven. The pack would be terminated without hesitation.

The problem was evident. Wovoka and the pack could not be captured

and there was no possible way for the Trighter to escape. The answer then

was equally clear. The Infiltrators would have to opt for an early entrance

into the spirit realm. Wovoka sighed and stood. They would go out fighting

like Apache.

There was no possible way for the Trighter to escape.

Wovoka stopped in his tracks as he walked back to the cockpit. The

Trighter didn't need to escape, only he and his Infiltrators did.

Running back to the command pit, Wovoka felt fear rising in his throat.

How close he had come to a fatal decision for himself and his men.

“Wolf Plume, abort the maneuver through the chunnel. Shake the

numbers out of the comp and lay in an autopilot sequence for our current

orbit. Kick the vee to 6,800 klicks,” Wovoka commanded as he stepped

124 AmerIndian 2192

through the internal airlock of the command pit. Wolf Plume immediately set

to work, increasing the velocity and configuring the autopilot.

Turning to Cavaho, Wovoka handed him his field slate, “Download

everything we gathered from the survey on Naanac into this slate. Prepare a

brief situation analysis. Leave the requested-action section open for me to fill

in later. Then I want you to do a global wipe of the ship’s server. Everything.”

Cavaho did not have time to respond as Wovoka was off and running.

Cavaho set to his leader's orders.

“Slow Turtle.”

Still strapped into the Gunners chair, Slow Turtle swiveled his cannon

chair so he sat up side down looking up at Wovoka through tower access

port.

“Disengage the locks on the torpedo bay so we can manually remove a

torpedo,” Wovoka did not hesitate as he commanded his gunner. His

sureness and determination steadied Slow Turtle as he listened. “Set your

sights for a high precision shot at 600 K.P.H. Ghost target. We'll be using a

mid-range Stinger, with a two kilogram insert for the warhead.”

“You got it, Alpha.”

Wovoka went over each step in his mind, carefully examining his plan

for possible flaws as he dashed to the end of the hallway. He quickly knelt

and opened the floor hatch covering the ship's central slide way. Most of the

Trighter's weapon systems other than the CZ40 Defender Laser were located
 J. Scott Garibay 125

on the Trighter's underbelly. It would have been a waste of space for a

combat ship like the Trighter to have large access halls, so three slide ways

were built for maintenance. Wovoka slipped down onto a meter wide slide-

plate and closed the floor hatch above him. The slide way was a tight fit.

Wovoka turned on the weapons bay work lights. Shafts of blue-white

light filled the small area. Alarm status and activity lights lit as the sliding

plate glided down the length of the Trighter. He grabbed one of the rungs

directly above him, abruptly stopping the slide plate at the torpedo racks.

The Trighter carried two different types of torpedoes. The short range

Ravager, for dog fights. The Ravager was a high speed, low accuracy torpedo

with enough raw power to crack a light fighting ship literally in half at ranges

up to one hundred kilometers. Extremely expensive and valuable to the

confederacy fleet, the Trighter only carried one. The mid-range Stinger was

the workhorse of the torpedo bay. Moderate range and moderate power

enabled it to hit ships from one hundred to one thousand kilometers away

and have a significant impact on a ship's shields. Three stinger hits could

take out heavy shields on destroyer class combat ships. The Trighter carried

eight.

One would have to be enough, Wovoka thought as he checked the

safety lights to make sure Slow Turtle had readied the torpedo bay for a

manual removal. Everything was in order so Wovoka carefully began

unsnapping the locks on a Stinger. Wovoka slid his body away from the round

cylinder slot that held the Stinger; a 130 centimeter long torpedo with a 25
126 AmerIndian 2192

centimeter radius. He thumbed the eject button. The loading mechanism

hissed as it kicked the Stinger half way out of the cylinder. The torpedo was

built with two distinct sections. The rear half held the torpedo's fuel and

engine while the front half contained the warhead (two kilograms of liquid

acido-carbon, sensors and a small nav comp).

Wovoka pulled a tool from his work belt and cautiously separated the

two halves of the Stinger, placing the rear half on the sliding plate. He placed

tools on either side of it so it would not roll. The work space was cramped,

the reason for break-apart torpedoes, and Wovoka had to work slowly

despite the urgency of his situation. After removing the warhead, he wriggled

the needle nose portion to a vertical position in the slide way and passed it

down over his body to rest it on the slide plate and clutch it between his legs.

Listening to the targeting comps in the torpedo bay whir and hum as

Slow Turtle prepared to shoot from the tower turret, Wovoka placed the rear

half of the Stinger back in the loading cylinder and replaced his tools on his

belt. With one strong tug, he sent himself and the torpedo warhead sliding

back to the hatch above. The work on the warhead would have to be done at

the workbench on the Trighter's main deck because the slide way was far too

cramped for that delicate, dangerous work.

Wovoka was up and out of the slide way and made his way to the

workbench. By now the Trighter had been in Naanac's atmosphere for

several minutes on a steady trajectory. Even with the considerable sensor

 J. Scott Garibay 127

static the Free Mantle created, the Trighter at speed would leave a heat

signature brighter than a flaming torch in a cold, dark cave.

Cavaho finger tapped the copying of one group of files with his right

and finger tapped for the deletion of another group with his left. An alarm

bubble popped onto his comp set obscuring his work - “Tracer lock.”

Cavaho acknowledged the alarm without surprise and informed the

others by sending icon messages to their comp sets.

Wovoka set the warhead down gently on the workbench and secured it.

He acknowledged the tracer lock warning by voice command. Rowan

Security had spotted the Trighter. He estimated there would be at least four

minutes before any combat. Wovoka decided to brief his brothers on his plan.

“Slow Turtle, get down to the command pit now,” He barked into his

comp set as he made his way to the command pit.

He stepped into the command pit and peered over Cavaho's shoulder.

“Excellent work,” Wovoka said. “Don't forget the buried convoy codes in the

recipe files.” Cavaho nodded as Wovoka took his seat behind him.

Seconds later Slow Turtle entered and took his seat, clearing the view

on his comp set so he could pay complete attention to Wovoka. “Come on

up, Wolf Plume,” Wovoka called down to his pilot.

“Wambli is obviously preoccupied. We've got one shot to pull our fat

out of the fire,” Wovoka began, “here's the plan.” He swiveled in his chair

and finger tapped a schematic onto all of their comp sets.

128 AmerIndian 2192

“The chunnel is crushed. There is no way we can get the Trighter

through. There is also no way we can get the Trighter through the Free

Mantle without the chunnel. That doesn't mean we can't get through. We're

going to space walk through the Free Mantle in the body tanks.”

Surprise and questions were written on the faces of all three of his

men.

“Wovoka,” Wolf Plume started hesitantly, “Those body tanks are

designed for heavy combat, not space walks.”

“I know that. Our normal vac-suits would be torn to shreds in seconds

from all the debris. I'm betting we can make it through in body tanks.”

“That's a risky bet, Alpha,” Slow Turtle retorted. “Why are we space

walking through the Free Mantle anyway. The outrider ship won't be able to

pick up the body tank homing beacons with all that static from the Free

Mantle. Wovoka, we can stay here on Naanac and fight it out. I can take out

whatever they've got and we can hide on the surface for as long as

necessary.” There was a gentle respect in Slow Turtle's voice.

“You'll have to trust me on this, that's not the best course. We are

walking, but this is going to be like no walk we have ever taken. Every one of

us has got to be game-on if we're going to make it through alive. Time to

prove we are warriors, not just men-with-weapons.”

Wovoka looked at Slow Turtle, waiting for questions or comments.

Wovoka, occasionally hurried and cross, never refused to hear his men out.
 J. Scott Garibay 129

Slow Turtle nodded in agreement with Wovoka. He did not understand his

leader's plan but he understood that Wovoka would not lead them into

extreme danger without a purpose.

“Good,” Wovoka said acknowledging to all that the plan was set. Only

execution of that plan remained. “Slow Turtle, listen carefully. You are to man

your normal post. Rowan Security is already in pursuit. As soon as they

approach, I want you to send them a message clear and simple, three times

over a shotgun band. 'Discontinue Pursuit immediately or you will be shot

down.' It's fair warning. Fire one warning bolt when they're within one

hundred kilometers of the Trighter. If any fighter returns fire or if they don't

turn back, blow them out of the sky one by one.”

Slow Turtle nodded and was gone.

“We're locked in orbit, right?” Wovoka asked Wolf Plume hoping no

problems had arisen.

“As tight as you can lock with an auto pilot,” Wolf Plume answered.

“Fine. Get back to the ship locker and prep our body tanks. Ignore all

the weapon system checks and preps, only the contained environment and

suit seals are important. Check the oxygen levels and fill them up.”

Wolf Plume interrupted, “Those body tanks have detachable missile

launchers on the back. If we took those off we could strap on extra air

canisters from our normal suits for reserve.”

130 AmerIndian 2192

“Great idea. Get to work, Wolf Plume. Cavaho, finish the wipe and

prepare a short message for Wanderer explaining what we're doing. Put it

and a copy of our geo-survey on the slate. I'm taking the warhead out of the

Stinger and replacing it with the slate. We're going to try and shoot it

through what's left of the chunnel so that the outrider ship can pick it up in

case we don’t make it through. Go help Wolf Plume when you're done here.”

Wolf Plume popped his head back into the command pit. “What about

the animal specimens?”

Wovoka grimaced and remained silent as he thought. “There’s no time.

We cannot save them. They remain on the ship and Wambli can secure their

fate.”

Wolf Plume looked down.

“Wolf Plume, focus. Yes, a Diegueño would not abandon even one of

those animals. We are not Diegueño, we are Apache, and we will serve our

function, to fight. Execute my order, old man.”

“There was a time when all the tribes valued animals, yes?”

“The tribes have changed out of necessity. We do not have even one

more second for this conversation.”

Wovoka let out a heavy sigh as Wolf Plume disappeared. He wondered

whether he had just pronounced a death sentence for his pack or whether he

had manufactured their only chance at escape.

 J. Scott Garibay 131

CHAPTER 11

Slow Turtle pulled himself into his gunner's chair and strapped in.

Familiar blue neon filled his vision as he shifted the display on his comp set

and scanned the sky for Rowan fighters. “Now this is a change,” he thought

to himself. Wolf Plume had put the Trighter into a high atmosphere orbit

around Naanac cruising at 2,600 K.P.H. The belly of Trighter faced the Free

Mantle instead of Naanac's surface, so now Slow Turtle gazed 'down'.

The tower turret was made of a glasteel composite, allowing Slow

Turtle a view from any angle. The CZ40 Defender laser cannon, an energy

weapon usually mounted on larger ships than the Trighter, had a fixed

position in the glasteel sphere.

The sphere, almost two meters in radius, used networked magnets to

swivel it almost instantly anywhere Slow Turtle directed through his keying

bands. The lack of moving parts gave the gun sphere a fluid precise

movement that made targeting easier for a skilled gunner. The turret was
132 AmerIndian 2192

attached to the Trighter with the usual chaotic collection of mismatched

connectors and hull seals that were standard on AC ships.

Slow Turtle finished prepping his cannon and considered the situation

at hand. At thirty-one, Slow Turtle was a battle worn veteran. As a

Confederacy mercenary he had seen more skirmishes, police actions, civil

insurrections and rebellions than he wished to remember. A smorgasbord of

violence and mayhem that other warriors would have relished. To Slow Turtle

it was only an endless pool of blood growing larger with every kill he made.

He did not have the bloodlust of his Celtic warrior ancestors, but he

had the touch, and that was what mattered. While other gunners could

expertly follow and lead targets, Slow Turtle had an uncanny knack for

knowing where his target would be and could aim at that point early. His skill

at pattern recognition made him an efficient, accurate gunner.

UDA space and aero-fighters were trained to fly in formation. Two-man

wings, with several wings comprising an attack. UDA training taught these

pilots to fly dozens if not hundreds of different complex patterns, weaving

into a multitude of formations. While these diverse patterns, flown at

incredible speeds, did an excellent job of confusing most gunners, forcing

them to pick a target and chase, they only made Slow Turtle's job easier. The

Irishman saw the patterns. He recognized them as they were initiated. He

knew the patterns better than most UDA trainers did. On top of this enviable

ability Slow Turtle could integrate his firing line with patterns using long,

quick sweeps of the turret to lock in on multiple targets. In one dogfight,

 J. Scott Garibay 133

Slow Turtle had taken out five fighters in one clean sweep. Wolf Plume was

his only witness. The other tribals laughed at them when they told the story.

But this did not upset Slow Turtle. He knew that somewhere a UDA survivor

told his mates of an AC gunner that could scrap half your squadron in less

time than it takes most gunners to catch your scent.

Slow Turtle considered the data in the Zuni reports he had read on his

comp set to prepare for the Naanac mission. Rowan maintained this isolated

planet for the one commercial advantage it provided; complete secrecy for

their research. The megacorp had complete control of every piece of

information that left the planet. Naanac was galaxies away from the nearest

outpost, colony or trade route. Even if a ship were to stumble on the far-

removed planet, the Free Mantle was such a significant natural barrier that

not only would it stop the ship from entering Naanac’s atmosphere, it also

blocked all electronic transmissions as well. Electrical transmissions beamed

at the Free Mantle, which surrounded Naanac entirely, were scrambled in the

Free Mantle's own chaotic electrical field.

Because Naanac had been kept a secret from the UDA and other

corporations, Rowan had to supply their own security. That meant a private

security force; fighter jock flunkies and cargo ship pilots wrapped in decades-

old fighters; big, slow and obsolete. Easy pickings for Slow Turtle.

Bink… Bink… Bink… One by one the Rowan atmosphere fighters

popped out of the cloud canopy, out of range at four hundred kilometers. The

comp acquired his targets and displayed them on his comp set. He narrowed
134 AmerIndian 2192

his field of view and fired his warning shot. If only that could be enough, he

thought.

ZT-34 Rattler Kings, newer than Slow Turtle was expecting. Might be

more challenging than he had expected. A lightweight, high-speed fighter

that carried a low energy laser cannon, not enough power to even crackle

the Trighter's shield. However, the Rattler King also carried two UDA mid-

range Stinger torpedoes. With six bogies on his comp set those Stingers

could be a problem.

Without hesitation Slow Turtle activated his sand casters then adjusted

his CZ40 cannon to an eighty percent power draw, more than enough to take

out any of these flyweight fighters. He finger tapped the single send.

Approaching at 5,400 K.P.H. the ZT-34's were closing thirty kilometers

of distance every minute, Slow Turtle read off his comp set. They were

following, not pursuing, otherwise they would have the engines wound up to

their full 22,000 K.P.H. capability. Probably don’t know what to make of us,

Slow Turtle concluded. He finger tapped the last single send on the same

shotgun band, and hoped they would respond.

Slow Turtle watched in irritation as the six bogeys punched their

thrusters and accelerated to 8,800 K.P.H. in a few seconds. Slow Turtle knew

the Trighter’s top speed of 14,000 K.P.H. was not going to outrun these

flyweights. They would have to be discouraged.

 J. Scott Garibay 135

“You are not authorized to be within Rowan air space. Break current

trajectory and proceed to surface or you will be shot down. You have thirty

seconds to comply.” The words shined across Slow Turtle's comp set.

“Frag it!” Slow Turtle cursed. One minute, ten seconds until they

reached Wovoka's one hundred kilometer warning shot perimeter. In twenty

three seconds Slow Turtle would have any where from two to twelve stingers

whizzing toward the Trighter. He had five sand casters and three stinger hits

could crack the Trighter's shields. The math was simple. Slow Turtle could not

let these fighters fire first.

WAMP. Ignoring Wovoka's perimeter, Slow Turtle fired one cannon blast,

not a warning shot, but a lure. The bright blue beam sizzled past the lead

fighters bow just ten meters to the left. The lead pilot took the bait, hook,

line and sinker, commanding his fighters to break pursuit formation.

“Parson's Star,” Slow Turtle said quietly, naming the maneuver. And as

if following his orders the six fighters banked away at steep angles, placing

their fighters into a large, revolving circle designed to regroup them in their

original formation a few seconds later.

Slow Turtle switched to personal automatic; all sensory information

from anything but the lenses of his comp set removed as he reacted from

experience. He mentally saw the pattern, as the fighters broke apart like

shards from an explosion.

136 AmerIndian 2192

Aiming the CZ40 at a target that was not there, Slow Turtle swiveled

his glasteel cage and began his firing arc. He flicked the trigger with blinding

speed a millisecond before each unsecured target chirped into white locked

X's on his comp set.

Three searing bolts sundered the three Rattler Kings. It had taken less

than a second, and Slow Turtle could hardly believe how easy it had been. He

had heard once that the best pilots and gunners were those who could act

without thinking. He knew better. The best gunners and pilots could match

the actions of their body with sub-conscience thought. Knowing he had

stunned this unfortunate fighter pack, Slow Turtle cautiously swiveled back to

the lead fighter and braced himself for his reaction.

Having seen three pilots, three friends and companions blasted

effortlessly into so much scrap, two of the remaining pilots did not finish their

part of the Parson Star, electing instead to break and run. Slow Turtle

thanked Wambli and began trying to lock onto the lead pilot.

“You have a job to do! Get your scurvy, cowardly asses back in pursuit

formation now,” retired UDA Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Carpe screamed into

his headset. He punched angrily at the cockpit glass above him. Three blasts

and his fighter pack of six had become a lone fighter. No less than he

expected. Those fat fraggers sat for weeks and weeks munching donuts and

sipping coffee, reading adventure files on sensor screens. Probably prayed

 J. Scott Garibay 137

every day they’d never have to strap into their ZT-34’s and fly against

anything that shot back, telling their wives how well they flew in the drills

each week. Frag them to hell and back.

But Daniel Carpe wasn't about to let the first bogey he’d seen in six

years escape him, wingman or none. Carpe knew this gunner was a vet who

had seen plenty of combat. Daniel Carpe had looked in the face of death a

few times himself. Now the blood lust from his younger days surged back

filling his brain with the pounding rage of a killer too long denied. For the

next fifty seconds Daniel Carpe was no longer a retired Lieutenant Colonel

Security Specialist flying a rented flyweight fighter for a megacorp, he was

the UDA First Regiment headhunter he had once been.

“One more bogey,” Slow Turtle thought. The last ZT-34 broke from

completing the Parson Star, but instead of retreating it barrel rolled into a

course approaching the Trighter from behind. Slow Turtle began to track the

fighter cautiously. The lone fighter presented no pattern for Slow Turtle to

recognize and trap the enemy pilot. Slow Turtle quick-booted his guns and

watched with respect as the ZT-34 wove a jagged, unpredictable path toward

the Trighter.

Slow Turtle gritted his teeth as the approaching pilot escaped his target

lock for the fifth time, and closed within fifty kilometers of the Trighter. The

ZT-34 Rattler King's thrusters kicked in again and Slow Turtle knew he wasn't
138 AmerIndian 2192

going to lock this target. The velocity reading on Slow Turtle's comp set

jumped fast and the Irishman's hands flashed across his instruments as he

switched from targeting to shield control. The Rattler King was going to pass

the Trighter and unload one or both of its stingers at a range too close for the

Trighter to evade. Slow Turtle's eyes widened as the ZT-34 rocketed past the

Trighter and kicked off both its Stingers. The gunner yelled wildly, his comp

set carrying his words to his pack mates’ comp sets, “Incoming.” He fired the

sand casters.

There was no doubt that Slow Turtle's reflexes were faster than

Carpe's, yet the veteran pilot had pushed his fighter to the edge, flown too

well for the gunner to catch. Now it was Slow Turtle's turn to be on the

receiving end. The Stingers came one after another, the first striking the

Trighter's sand screen squarely. White fire blew away from the thin barrier, a

brilliant flash kept Slow Turtle from seeing that the second Stinger exploded

due to the concussion of the first Stinger. Even from meters away the second

explosion rocked the Trighter like a bull ramming a matador. As his chair

straps dug deep into his chest, Slow Turtle hoped his pack mates had heeded

his warning.

The ZT-34 shot ahead of the Trighter; cutting a line across the thin mix

of vacuum and atmosphere at over 11,000 K.P.H. Slow Turtle recovered

quickly from the close range missile strike and assumed from the continued

course of the Trighter that his pack mates were alright. Slow Turtle swiveled
 J. Scott Garibay 139

his turret and struggled to lock on the Rowan fighter as it swept and drove

through a complex evasion maneuver. Slow Turtle saw no need to worry as

the ZT-34 swung around and raced back head-on at the Trighter. This enemy

pilot, admittedly skilled, could jab the Trighter with his light cannon until they

overheated and never pierce her shields.

Carpe whooped and hollered like a UDA cadet after his first kill. One of

his Stingers had grazed the Trighter and tested its shields. He knew someone

in that ship was checking to see if they still had all their teeth. The elation

held a moment before Carpe realized the Trighter still had not averted

course. “Fragger’s on auto-pilot?” he growled.

It dawned on the retired UDA soldier. Of course, the bogey was on

autopilot. You didn't need a real pilot to avoid a fighter that could do nothing

more than bounce lasers off your ship. He'd be as effective spitting at the

Trighter as he would be firing his light cannon. His heart burned as he

realized the game was over. He had lost five to nothing. In that instant Carpe

decided he was not going to pass up his last chance to die a soldier, not like

those cowards running back to base. He was going out now and he was

taking that gunner with him.

No need to swat this fly, Slow Turtle told himself, as he watched the

lead pilot continue his charge. The pilot was swirling his fighter in, like a
140 AmerIndian 2192

feather caught in a wind tunnel. While he would definitely have the last laugh

on this ace, Slow Turtle could not help thinking that if the pilot had better

equipment and training this encounter might have had a less pleasant

outcome. The Irish gunner always had trouble with single targets, but there

was no doubt this pilot would have had a good shot at slipping him even in a

multi-target pattern.

In the short time it took the Trighter and the ZT-34 to close Slow Turtle

wondered why the pilot wasn't sending out tracers. It concerned him as the

next fifty kilometers between them disappeared. As the Rowan fighter closed

to 130 kilometers Slow Turtle nervously pondered why the pilot hadn't fired.

Lasers couldn't be dodged or sand-screened, so why would the enemy pilot

hold his fire?

“By Wambli,” Slow Turtle cursed.

With seconds to contact, Slow Turtle realized his enemy’s intention - to

ram the Trighter. Not enough time to take him out.

The fighter closed. Slow Turtle watched as the last few kilometers

disappeared between the two vessels. He realized the ZT-34 was coming in

high. The pilot would just miss the Trighter or he would scrape across the top.

There would be no direct hit. Slow Turtle realized suddenly that the enemy

pilot wasn't aiming to hit the Trighter head on. He was going to take out the

tower turret directly.

 J. Scott Garibay 141

Slow Turtle voice commanded the gun chair up side down and

simultaneously unclipped his harness. “Sealing deck two, impact coming!”

Slow Turtle yelled into live comp set. He fell four meters from the ceiling of

Deck Two to its floor. Bones in his shoulder snapped like dry twigs as he

slammed into the floor.

Ignoring his broken shoulder blade Slow Turtle pushed himself up. He

dropped immediately back to the floor as the pain from his shoulder shot

through him, refusing to be overridden. He howled in pain and cursed the

time he was losing. He had seconds to traverse the six meters between

himself and the nearest access port before it slammed shut, sealing him and

the deck into cold thin oxygen spare atmosphere once the fighter hit.

He pushed himself up with his good arm only and lunged at the door.

Carpe blazed his small fighter at the larger ship. He spun and swirled

the ZT-34 in a wild approach that stressed the fighter to its limits. Carpe's

vision blurred as he spun in toward the Trighter. The life of a young man

trained and eager to kill, scenes of war and glory, days Carpe had not

wanted to end, filled his mind. He died without fear.

The ZT-34 tore the gun tower off the Trighter with the ease of a butcher

beheading a chicken. The light, protruding structure wrenched violently from

its jury-rigged moorings. The shield had done little to stop the force of the

fighter-turned-missile. The Trighter's system comp automatically, instantly

142 AmerIndian 2192

doubled the energy being channeled to protect the turret. The impact turned

Carpe's fighter into a flattened slagheap. After decimating the turret the ZT-

34's remains continued down the top of the Trighter, impacting explosively

with the Trighter's rear stabilizer.

Slow Turtle was thrown at the door where his good shoulder slammed

against its frame. He dropped to the floor on his broken collarbone. Intense

pain overwhelmed the injured Infiltrator and even his desperation to get

through the deck door before it sealed him into near vacuum was not enough

to keep him moving. He lay on the floor half way through the door, teeth and

fist clenched as he fought to stay conscious.

Wovoka froze when he heard Slow Turtle's message over his comp set.

He was thrown from a ladder by the impact. He picked himself off the deck

floor. Wovoka cursed as he felt the air around him begin to swirl quickly up

through the Deck Two access port. On his feet, up the ladder. Wovoka did not

hesitate. Through the access port, Wovoka looked across the room. He finger

tapped the command opening the door nearest him. Air exploded around him

toward the gaping hole in the Trighter's hull above him. Slow Turtle lay on the

floor motionless.

Air screamed past Wovoka. He ran to the still form of his pack mate

and in one strong motion yanked his wounded friend across the threshold of
 J. Scott Garibay 143

the door. Safety sensors immediately closed the door as soon as the two

passed through.

Wovoka brushed hair from his face as he checked Slow Turtle. He was

unconscious, blood flowed steadily from a deep cut on his cheek. Wovoka

was relieved his Infiltrator had made it out of the tower turret. Cavaho poked

his head up through the access port and slid a med kit toward Wovoka.

“Thanks. Check if there are any fighters still around and set a target

scan with autoalarm.”

Cavaho was gone, Wovoka slowly stood after laying Slow Turtle gently

on his back. The air was thin and Wovoka breathed as though he were on top

a high mountain. Wovoka finger tapped up the ship's life support system on

his comp set. The breach released eighty percent of the ship's life support.

They had three to five minutes, Wovoka estimated.

Wolf Plume popped up through the port. “There isn't a bogey within a

thousand kilometers of the ship,” he reported as Wovoka applied an

antibiotic coagulator patch to Slow Turtle's face.

Wovoka began to gently tend Slow Turtle's cut, “He did his job, as

always. How are the body tanks coming?”

“Checks are almost done. Still haven't got those extra tanks attached.”

“We have to get out of the Trighter fast. Put those extra tanks in

gunnysacks and tie them onto the body tanks. Hurry!” Wovoka instructed.
144 AmerIndian 2192

Wolf Plume left him with the unconscious Slow Turtle. “Come on, brother,”

Wovoka said to his patient as he slapped an autostim onto his neck.

Slow Turtle's nose tweaked as the autostim kicked in. Opening his eyes,

he looked at Wovoka, and closed his eyes again. Wovoka smiled and

laughed, “You'll use any excuse to get off your feet won't you!”

Slow Turtle smiled through the pain and whimpered softly.

Wovoka grinned back at him. “Your collar bone is broken. Bad break.”

He reached into the med kit, pulling out a hypo-gun and some Negacain. “I'm

going to numb it. We’ve got to move. I need you strong, brother warrior.”

Wovoka fired the hypo-gun deep into Slow Turtle’s shoulder. “Wolf Plume told

me we don't have a single bogey in the sky,” Wovoka took Slow Turtle's hand

and squeezed hard. “You got us this far, brother, we'll take you the rest of

the way.” He nodded at Slow Turtle reassuringly and stood to help him up.

Wovoka helped Slow Turtle through the Trighter to where the body

tanks were being prepped by Wolf Plume. The Pack Alpha was pleased to see

the Negacain dose had masked Slow Turtle's pain enough that he could

function on his own. Wisely Slow Turtle was not utilizing his left arm in order

to avoid further damage to his shoulder.

Wolf Plume carefully attached the extra air canisters to the body tanks.

As he worked he marveled at these unique and impressive pieces of armor.

Yet more stolen, haggled, pilfered UDA equipment the Confederacy was now

putting to good use against their Earth based enemy. These Heavy Jaguar
 J. Scott Garibay 145

body tank units were among the UDA's most sought after pieces of military

gear. A huge, virtually indestructible suit of concussive and energy resistant

armor, the suit gave UDA soldiers excellent protection against everything

from hand-held firearms to light laser cannons. But the real effectiveness of

the Heavy Jaguar came from its incredible mobility and agility.

The entire suit was powered so that every move of the soldier wearing

it was amplified in speed and power. A soldier's punch was turned into

power-packed blow that could smash through the swell of a light infantry

hover craft. The soldier could run in an enhanced mode, which turned every

step into a long, fast three-meter stride. One strong jump from the soldier

sprang the four hundred kilogram Jaguar three meters into the air. UDA

Special Forces were trained for weeks to utilize these mobile war machines.

Wovoka, realizing the considerable potential of these suits, had taken

months to train his pack in the use of the body tanks so they could be used

to their maximum destructive capability.

Flowing Rivers, a Zuni intelligence agent, acquired the Heavy Jaguars

two years ago. Flowing Rivers had traded thirty kilos of Zeta Clear, a highly

illegal designer drug that had been confiscated from a tribe member (who

was subsequently banished), to a corrupt UDA requisition officer for the four

Jaguar units.

This would be the first time Wovoka's pack used these suits for

something other than combat. While the body tanks were fully capable of
146 AmerIndian 2192

operating in vacuum their primary design was for use on land. The Infiltrators

would have to leverage their training, Wovoka thought.

Wolf Plume turned his attention away from the suit he was currently

prepping and addressed Wovoka.

The old Russian spoke, taking his focus off his own tasks. “We're

approaching the point you designated earlier,” Wolf Plume reported. “I'm

decelerating the Trighter to 50 K.P.H. where we want to disembark. The comp

has had a rough time compensating for the loss of the stabilizing fin. I have

programmed the autopilot to accelerate the Trighter away from the location

where we disembark.”

“ETA on the disembark location?”

“One minute, twenty seconds,” Wolf Plume answered Wovoka.

Wovoka barked an order over the comp set. “Cavaho, grab the hack

sack and get up here to Locker Two.” Wovoka pulled the opening lever on

the second body tank. The body tank hummed obediently to life. The

hydraulics in the Heavy Jaguar opened it up to accept its controller. The body

tank split down the middle, hinging the two parts of the front half on the

outside edge of the arms and legs. Wovoka motioned for Slow Turtle to come

forward. He helped him step into the wide-open mobile armor. Slow Turtle

was standing in the recess of the body tank, encased in the soft neoprene

rubber that held the intricate micro fibers that read and executed the

movements of the controller.

 J. Scott Garibay 147

“Hey, where's the body tank’s missle launchers?” Slow Turtle asked

Wovoka as the Pack Alpha buckled Slow Turtle in to the suit.

“I had Wolf Plume take them off for extra air capacity. We won't need

missles in the Free Mantle. We still have the wrist cannons if we need them,”

Wovoka answered.

Wovoka stepped back and hit the lever to the closed position. The body

tank closed on Slow Turtle, an audible sequence of clicks emitted from the

inside of the suit as it locked. The body tank hissed as it sealed and switched

to its internal air supply.

Cavaho ran into the room and grabbed the hack sack and began

attaching it to his body tank. Wovoka was strapping himself into his suit

when Cavaho arrived.

“Thirty seconds to disembark. Move it, move it,” Wolf Plume warned

Cavaho.

The Infiltrators could feel the hard deceleration of the Trighter as it

approached the drop point. Cavaho snapped the last latch hook on the hack

sack to the armored handles on the back of his body tank and got in. Wolf

Plume was in his body tank but had not yet closed it. His right hand flash

tapped commands to the ship's server, including an adjustment on when to

seal the ship. The Russian hit the open lever to the closed position. His suit

sealed last, three seconds from disembarkation.

148 AmerIndian 2192

The blast hatch over each of the suits blew off like pressure cooker lids

and the Free Mantle filled the vision of each Infiltrator. As Wovoka,

surrounded by warriors under his charge, floated freely toward the stone

chaos and away from the Trighter he knew if ever he needed Wambli to carry

him on his wings, it was now.

 J. Scott Garibay 149

CHAPTER 12

Small chunks skipped between the rolling boulders and hulking stones

that made up the Free Mantle. Wovoka took in the chaos of the Free Mantle

and steeled himself for the arduous task ahead of him and his men. He

caught a glance at the Trighter as it screamed away. A good ship. Wolf Plume

had programmed the comp to gently land the Trighter six hundred kilometers

from Cartel Base Nurai. The loss of the tail stabilizer would make it a gamble

whether the Trighter would make it not. Even at that distance there was little

chance Rowan personnel would not pick up the Trighter.

The fact that Rowan personnel had found Wovoka’s infiltrator team on

their planet would probably mean the construction of another chunnel

immediately. Rowan managers could get reinforcements back to Naanac

ASAP. Wovoka knew from the Zuni intelligence reports that it would take a

minimum of nine days to build another chunnel, which would give them

some time at least.

150 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka and the three Infiltrators reached the edge of the maelstrom of

rock. Below them spanned the grey-green marbling of Naanac surface,

glimpsed between thick, wet clouds. Above them floated the planet's outer

shell. The sparkling churning boulders prohibited Wovoka from seeing far into

the Free Mantle.

“How are we going to tackle this, Wovoka?” Wolf Plume asked.

Wovoka boosted a few meters ahead of the rest of the group. “I hear

static in the lines already. Once we get into that mess we are not going to be

able to communicate at all. And judging from the chaos I see, I doubt we are

going to be able to stay together. We’ll have to clamber through the two

kilometers of Free Mantle, boulder by boulder. Cavaho, you handle these

body tanks better than the rest of us. I need you to take Slow Turtle through

with you. The Negacain I gave him should make it possible for him to move

long enough to get through. Carry him when he can’t.”

Cavaho nodded.

Wolf Plume grimaced. “Wovoka, I don't know about this. Sure the body

tanks will take a hit from a boulder twice their size but some of those rocks

are fifty meters wide. If Slow Turtle gets caught between two of them his

body tank will crack open like a clam.”

“Buck up, warrior.” Slow Turtle said. “The only alternative is staying

on this marsh planet and that really doesn't sound appealing to me. Let’s get

back to the squaws and scotch.”

 J. Scott Garibay 151

Wovoka grinned. He pulled up a time stamp. “Let's get this done. I'm

guessing it should take anywhere from two to four hours per kilometer. I am

sending my time stamp to your comp sets, which should be in control of your

body tank systems. We rally at 45 degrees north and 72 east of Telt,

Naanac's moon, between 1100 and 1500 hours. Understand?”

“Check.”

“Check.”

Cavaho nodded.

Wovoka turned, as all three of his Infiltrators boosted toward him. The

four soldiers clacked the plasteel of their helmets together. “Wambli, will

carry each of us on his wings as he has a hundred times before. I'll see you

on the other side.”

None of them spoke another word, just broke and boosted toward the

Free Mantle. Wovoka's momentum gently sent him into the fringe of the Free

Mantle. Small rocks began to clack against the body tank. He pushed away a

boulder a meter wide. It rolled and smacked against an asteroid twice its

size.

The big rocks started a few meters away. Wovoka spotted a twenty-

meter boulder rolling slowly through the mass of churning rocks toward the

far unseen edge of the Free Mantle. He boosted toward the fleeing boulder,

activated the Jaguar’s wrist cannon and adjusted to its maximum setting.

One blast created a perfect round hole about two and a half meters wide and
152 AmerIndian 2192

a meter deep. He used the thrusters to get himself close enough to cram the

suit into the hole. The smaller rocks bounced off of the Jaguar and the larger

rocks that crashed into the boulder made no contact with the suit.

Wovoka was confident the rest of his Infiltrators would be able to figure

out this maneuver. The large rock crashed deeper into the Free Mantle,

farther away from Naanac. Wovoka spoke into his comp set. “Pack Alpha to

infiltrators, echo back.” Only silence answered. The Free Mantle rendered

their communication system useless, as he expected.

After a few hundred meters of diagonal progress, a large boulder

rocked Wovoka’s ride. The boulder beneath him veered back toward Naanac.

A boost from his boot thrusters sent him back into the chaos. He dodged

smaller asteroids, constantly moving toward the direction of the Free

Mantle’s outer edge. He progressed another seventy-five meters before he

spotted a bulky asteroid heading his way. He maneuvered and snuggled his

body tank in for another ride.

The asteroid took him another hundred meters as Wovoka continued to

dodge and scrape his way toward the outer space surrounding Naanac.

Wovoka began to sweat inside his body tank, despite the cool jets of

air the integral life support system provided. The physical exertion was

difficult but Wovoka was used to hard work. He and his pack trained

constantly. Wovoka exempted Slow Turtle from some of the rigorous training
 J. Scott Garibay 153

schedule because he often proved to be a distraction. He considered the

wisdom of that decision now.

The most difficult part of the task was maintaining direction. Every

boulder Wovoka attached himself to rolled and arched in a direction askew of

where he needed to go. Normally his comp set could easily guide him, but

the Free Mantle presented too much interference for the processors to

crunch quickly. Each boulder had its own properties, some radioactive. The

only way to tell if he was heading toward space or back toward the planet

was to look for flecks of grey (Naanac’s atmosphere) or flecks of black (outer

space).

Six hours of coasting and dodging and firing and tumbling brought his

body tank close to the space edge of the Free Mantle. Here the black was in

large patches, no longer flecks. Stars were visible. The inside of his body

tank stank from his perspiration.

Sweat rolled off his brow and he blinked furiously to keep it out of his

eyes. He rolled the body tank again and landed on a medium sized boulder

not more than seven or eight meters wide. Suddenly a strange shimmering

winked at his left and he turned to see a spacecraft. It startled him. He

calmed himself and made out the clean edges of a CZ-214 Bounty Hunter, a

heavy, expensive fighter-bomber.

154 AmerIndian 2192

It was another moment before he saw the shattered glasteel of the

cockpit and realized it was deserted hulk. It had probably been junked here

after a failed attempt to intercept last year's Rowan shuttle.

Carefully Wovoka moved around the Bounty Hunter. He read the

remaining half of the ship’s name emblazoned on the front. It was mottled

and the paint chipped. “1884-QI 8710 Billy the K,” Wovoka took a few stills

with his comp set. It worried him that this ship was here. It could mean that

Rowan was more prepared than they appeared to be. He was unsure. It was

also quite possible Rowan Cartel had never found this ship and the ship had

somehow become stranded here without any way to return. Wovoka moved

away from the ship and put it out of his thoughts. This short investigation

was all he could do now.

He boosted out to a safe distance from the edge of the Free Mantle. A

huge weight lifted off of his shoulders. He basked in the beauty of Naanac’s

moon and its background of thousands of brilliant stars. He would live

another day and now he needed to gather his men. He looked right and left

to see if he could find any of his Infiltrators. He saw no one.

Wovoka set the lights on his body tank blinking and looked at the arms.

The finish was shredded away, showing scored black blastplast. The body

tank was dented and worn, yet all of its basic functions were operating.

Wovoka turned away from the endless vacuum of space toward the Free

Mantle. His heart jumped as something slammed into him. Something

 J. Scott Garibay 155

grabbed his body tank by the shoulders and suddenly glasteel tinked against

glasteel. Shock turned into amazement. It was Wolf Plume, smiling.

Wovoka laughed and spun with Wolf Plume. Two were out now, half the

pack. “Any sign of Cavaho or Slow Turtle?”

Wolf Plume shook his head. “It took me longer to get through than I

expected. They are probably running into the same problems we did. We can

wait here.”

Wovoka laughed. “Of course, we'll wait here. Where else would we go?”

The next two hours passed slowly. Conversation with Wolf Plume was

strained due to Wovoka’s concern for Cavaho and Slow Turtle. They spent the

time observing, carefully, Naanac’s two suns, Venik I and II. Venik I was

closer, brighter - a gas giant. Its bright electric blue light bathed their body

tanks. Venik II cast brilliant green and between the two suns it made

anything the light touched appear as if it were under water. Wovoka had just

set a watch schedule so that one of them could sleep when Wolf Plume

pointed.

Wovoka and Wolf Plume were approximately two kilometers from the

edge of the Free Mantle but Wovoka could make out a dull glint of steel.

“Optics, twenty.” The comp set adjusted magnification and the two thousand

meters appeared to be one hundred meters. It was definitely one of the

pack's Heavy Jaguars units but Wovoka could not tell whose from this

distance. Then he realized the body tank wasn't moving, just drifting as
156 AmerIndian 2192

boulders banged it about. Wovoka returned the optics to normal and boosted

toward the body tank.

Slow Turtle. Wovoka's mind raced. He should have known. He should

have known. Slow Turtle was injured. How could he possibly make it through

the Free Mantle? Wolf Plume was in front of Wovoka now pushing boulders

back away from the Jaguar body tank. Wovoka slowed and stopped just

above the battered suit, its back to him. He grabbed the body tank, and

boosted clear of the Free Mantle. Once they were clear, Wovoka turned the

suit to face him. Tears clouded his eyes. The glasteel of the helmet was

covered with blood and Wovoka saw that the body tank had been cracked.

Explosive decompression. Slow Turtle, inside, looked as tattered and

shredded as his body tank.

“Oh Wambli, what have I done? Slow Turtle…” Wovoka placed a hand

to his faceplate.

Wolf Plume grabbed the bulky shoulder of Wovoka's suit, “Not your

fault, boy. Not your fault. Don’t weep at a soldier’s death. Know that crazy

Irishman died for the AmerIndian Confederacy and was glad to do it.”

Wovoka did not know how long he wept. He simply remembered seeing

everything around him suddenly when his eyes were no longer clouded with

tears. Cavaho and Wolf Plume were both hovering over him. He was glad to

realize that Cavaho had made it through. The joy lasted until he saw the
 J. Scott Garibay 157

tether leading from the back of Cavaho's suit to the Heavy Jaguar that was

Slow Turtle's coffin.

“What happened?”

Wolf Plume frowned. “I questioned Cavaho earlier and best I could

make out was that Slow Turtle’s suit was cracked very early on in the Free

Mantle walk. Cavaho pushed the body tank through because he thought you

would want him to do that.”

Wovoka looked at Cavaho. Cavaho nodded confirming Wolf Plume’s

version. There was no remorse in his eyes. Wovoka realized Cavaho would

not process any of the pain he was feeling over Slow Turtle’s death. The

warrior had been incapable of such feelings for years now.

Wovoka breathed deep. The time for mourning, the time for rage was

not now. “Wolf Plume, how long have we been here?”

“Half-hour.”

“What does your O2 level read?”

“Forty-two hours” Wovoka finger tapped at link to Cavaho's body tank

and found the same reading. The keying bands were slower when used inside

the heavy gauntlets of the body tanks, but they were still functional. His suit

also had forty-two hours. “Kill Spotted Horse put all suits at max oxygen. We

also all have twelve-hour reserve tanks. Cavaho, take the reserve tank off

Slow Turtle's and put four hours into each of our suits.”
158 AmerIndian 2192

No one spoke as Cavaho scavenged the air tank off Slow Turtle's suit

and split it's contents between the three of them. There were another few

minutes of silence.

Wovoka swung around and faced Wolf Plume. “Turn off all non-essential

suit power systems and max your lights.”

“Do you have a plan? Are we supposed to do something?” Wolf Plume

kept his voice calm, but his question betrayed his concern.

“Yes, I have a plan. Plan is, we wait.”

“Wait for what, Wovoka?”

“I don't know what but I know something will come along.”

“Wovoka, we are galaxies away from the nearest colony or outpost or

trade route and our rendezvous ship won't get here until four hundred hours

on the sixth, three days from now. That's sixty-three hours away and twenty-

one hours more than we have. We have to do something other than wait.”

“No, we don't. When we were on Naanac, I experienced something.

Quanana… A vision, clear and strong. It is my destiny to share that vision

with the tribes. I know in my heart I will not die here and I won't let you die

here either.”

“Quanana, are you sure? What did you see?”

Cavaho circled slowly and he leveled his cold eyes at Wovoka.

 J. Scott Garibay 159

“I will tell you when I tell all the tribes, but for now you have to trust

me.”

Neither Wolf Plume nor Cavaho looked at the corpse floating behind

them. They knew Slow Turtle died following Wovoka. He had done no more or

less than any of them had always been ready to do.

Wolf Plume spun his suit toward his Pack Alpha, “I trust you, Wovoka.

We will not die here. I feel it, too. We wait.”

Cavaho nodded and the three huddled closer together and hoped the

wait would not be too long.

160 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 13

Celetain Prax sat quietly before the stars. Her chair sat before the far

transparent wall of her temporary quarters on the Brule's only lodge ship,

Cold Pyre. Through twenty meters of smooth force field reinforced glasteel,

Celetain watched as AmerIndian Confederacy shuttles, fighters and cargo

ships bustled between massive lodge ships. Four hundred and sixteen

thousand tribals, all depending on her wisdom.

Celetain thought of her tribe, the Haida. They were responsible for

healing, prophecy and spiritual research in the AmerIndian Confederacy. Of

the Haida population of 22,000 tribals only 10,000 were shamans, the rest

were apprentices, support and researchers. Just as the Nez Perce tribe had

attracted blacks (due to their affinity for piloting) the Haida had a large

percentage of Hispanics and Latinos who excelled in spiritual arts the Haida

performed.

The first chief of the Haida and the greatest shaman in the AC's short

history was Morningstar Prax, Celetain's mother. From the beginning Family
 J. Scott Garibay 161

Prax had been integral to the success of the Haida, and consequently the

entire AmerIndian Confederacy. Morningstar Prax, a Harvard Doctor in

History specializing in shamanic rituals, joined Potlatch Weaver in building

the AmerIndian Confederacy three months before the end of the Six Captives

Law Suit. She became the chief of the Haida in 2164, the first year of the

AmerIndian Confederacy. In 2165 Celetain Prax was born. Her father, a Nez

Perce Pilot, died a month before Celetain was born, killed in an attempt to

steal a prime ship for the AmerIndian Confederacy.

Despite her husband's death, Morningstar left her research behind and

became a practicing shaman. She single-handedly lead thousands of tribals

in reviving a level of shamanic activity and power that had not been seen

since before the white man walked the sacred lands of North America.

Celetain loved her mother and emulated her in every way with the exception

of her studies, which embraced a broader spectrum of rituals and magic.

In 2180, Crafter, a Tsimshian tribal, launched an extensive program of

archiving all available data on shamanic rituals. At the age of fifteen Celetain

began speaking with Crafter every day. She used her status as a chief's

daughter to keep in touch with him and encouraged him to include other

occult material. Crafter became attached to Celetain and considered her a

sister after only a year of discourse. Between 2180 and 2183 Celetain

worked with Crafter to develop a new form of Shamanism called

Cybershamanism.
162 AmerIndian 2192

Cybershamanism was a mixture of traditional Shamanism, Wicca, Asian

Ancestor Worship and Yoga, all filtered and manipulated by complex code

agents. A most unusual religion, Cybershamanism quickly dwarfed the

progress Celetain’s mother, Morningstar, had made with traditional

Shamanism since 2164. Morningstar grew distant from her daughter as

Celetain achieved phenomenal results; healing in seconds, clear, exact

prophecy and stunning visual effects used in storytelling rituals.

During the years after the creation of Cybershamanism Celetain grew

distant from her mother and fell into dark brooding. However, tribals had

never seen anything like the power Celetain wielded. The Elders tried to

ignore her results while young tribals embraced her practices and Celetain

developed a powerful following. Morningstar was horrified by her daughter's

return to blood rituals like the Sundance. Ritual of the Black Heart, a new

healing ritual developed by Celetain was the final straw. In this ritual Celetain

inhaled sickness out of a person and then wretched it back up in huge,

bloody clots from her own body.

Events came to a head in 2189 when UDA President Johanson secretly

sent his son to the Haida with C-HIV to be cured. At the request the Elders

Morningstar performed a three-day ritual to cure him. Her efforts failed to

have any effect on the young man. In one hour, Celetain and her group of

acolytes healed him completely. Celetain's reputation in the AmerIndian

Confederacy grew. When the story was leaked to the UDA media, her

reputation approached legend. (President Johanson had to fend off an

 J. Scott Garibay 163

impeachment attempt shortly after for turning to an enemy force for aid.) It

was a difficult time for Morningstar and Celetain and they interacted little.

In 2190 Morningstar was killed when her shuttle was shot down on her

way to serve as a combat medic in a particularly bloody Brule operation. All

of the mystery surrounding Celetain, her popularity among the youth and the

sentiment surrounding her mother's death propelled Celetain into the

position of Elder at the age of twenty-five. The tribe chiefs simply voted the

choice of the people, and their choice was Celetain. John welcomed her as an

Elder while Stormseeker was furious over the outcome of the vote.

Cybershamanism’s effects were fast and powerful, as opposed to the

slow, steady river force of traditional shamanism. However, less than half of

the Haida were able to master even minor levels Cybershamanism.

Celetain's personal Emerald Acolyte Pack consisted of the twelve strongest

Cybershamans in the Haida tribe. They did not work together often, instead

training other Cybershaman packs. When they were together, however, their

results were nothing short of incredible.

Celetain and her Acolytes wore hunter green leather with glowing neon

runes (controlled by their comp sets) that constantly shifted into new rune

shapes. These were tools they used in their work.

Now beginning her third year as Elder Shaman, Celetain felt the weight

of duty on her shoulders. She learned the art of leadership from Potlatch

Weaver, the father of the AmerIndian Confederacy and the wisest, kindest
164 AmerIndian 2192

man she had ever known. She missed him now. His strength, his hope, and

most of all his ability to make every person, including her, achieve the

limitless potential within them. She shook her head. She loved what she did.

Never had she been as fulfilled as she was in the leadership role she now

filled. Still the weight of responsibility grew heavier each day.

Since her acceptance as Elder Shaman, she and the Council had

struggled to rebuild the AmerIndian Confederacy. John, Kugan and

Stormseeker all had years of experience on her, yet, their greatest years as

Elders were still ahead of them. That gave Celetain hope. But Morgan

Weaver; she wondered why his father had not been wise enough to see that

this son would not be a good Elder. Morgan had no vision, no strength, and at

times Celetain thought she saw a dangerous, selfish ambition in him. He had

been nothing but an obstacle to the council since his acceptance four years

ago.

Celetain thought back on the tasks the council handled since she

became an Elder. Even eleven years after the White Earth Massacre,

recovery was still the greatest challenge. The AmerIndian Confederacy had

been devastated by that attempt to gain a Homeland. The following years

had been spent scrambling to replace lodge ships and other resources. New

tribals had not been a problem. So many UDA citizens from each of the

seven settled galaxies as well as periphery folk had come to join the

AmerIndian Confederacy that some had to be turned away.

 J. Scott Garibay 165

Thankfully, the UDA had fumbled their media handling of the White

Earth Massacre. It was well known White Earth was the vacation haven of the

elite and few UDA citizens ever set foot on the planet. Most UDA citizens

were not pleased to learn tens of thousands of UDA soldiers died to preserve

skiing and wind surfing for the UDA’s richest.

The UDA media aired hours of raw battle footage from the White Earth

battle hoping to show the violence and chaos the AmerIndian Confederacy

created. What many UDA citizens saw was the first force in the UDA's 136-

year history that could actually survive battling with UDA forces. The

coverage of the battle looked like a cat fighting a mouse. The fight was long

and bloody for both sides. Members of the Anarchists party were amazed at

how much the comparatively minuscule AmerIndian Confederacy had been

able to accomplish. Many young Anarchists had joined the underdog force,

the AmerIndian Confederacy, after the White Earth Massacre.

The next challenge the AmerIndian Confederacy faced was the building

of the Merc Force. The Merc Force was a two-purpose project for the

AmerIndian Confederacy. The first and most critical purpose was to build and

maintain a diverse, dedicated and deadly army that would not be drilling and

practicing endlessly on comp generated opponents but would have battle-

earned, war-tempered experience. The second purpose was to put some

creds back into the AmerIndian Confederacy's coffers.

Within two years both purposes had been achieved. Currently forty

percent of the AmerIndian Confederacy served as mercenaries of one sort or

166 AmerIndian 2192

another; Infiltrators, infantry, body tank warriors, fighter pilots. Since the

introduction of the Merc Force in 2180 the Confederacy’s casualties averaged

around twenty thousand per year. But new tribals kept coming and an

AmerIndian Confederacy death carried more respect and glory for many than

anything the UDA offered.

Once there were tribals and UDA credits in adequate quantities the

next challenge had been the acquisition of eleven lodge ships to replace

those lost in the White Earth Massacre. Most of the ships were taken by

orchestrated internal betrayal. UDA navigators were easily bribed to adjust a

scheduled jump to a designated point where dozens of AmerIndian

Confederacy outrider ships waited in ambush. These UDA colony ships were

usually taken without combat. A few UDA colony ships were taken by force.

One colony ship was actually handed over willingly by its UDA captain and

ninety percent of its crew joined the AmerIndian Confederacy.

All of these challenges Celetain had watched as a teenager. Now she

wondered what would be next. She knew from experience the period of

success for the AmerIndian Confederacy would have to end soon. The

AmerIndian Confederacy currently had over one hundred and fifty thousand

tribals involved in seven ongoing campaigns. And while body bags arrived at

the lodge ships every day, the violence, the blood, was elsewhere. It was at

distant mining outposts and on far flung colony planets. For over two years

the AmerIndian Confederacy had been able to avoid the attempts of UDA
 J. Scott Garibay 167

forces to capture or kill an Elder. Only one lodge ship had been lost in the last

two years. And the Merc work was bringing in billions of creds.

Another surprising turn of events was the newly developed core

competency of the Haida tribe. Faced with the gruesome task of patching up

thousands of tribals from a near infinite variety of injuries, the Haida had

turned their lodge ship into the best trauma hospital in the known universe.

Med students from all the core and periphery colonies flocked to learn with

the Haida. And unlike UDA hospitals the AmerIndian Confederacy could give

medical service without regard to politics. UDA elites paid through the nose

for services that the UDA denied them for one reason or another.

Too much was going well. Celetain had foreseen that it would not last.

She sipped at the sweet thick hot chocolate that Broge, her assistant, had

made for her. She set it down on the table next to her and relaxed. It had

been a long day. Soon she slipped into a shallow sleep.

At first she dreamt of the Elder Council, each member appearing

before her in his true form. John was rabbit, wise and swift. Kugan a turtle,

conservative and cautious. Stormseeker a bear, strong and fearless. Morgan

strangely appeared only in his human form and Potlatch Weaver, his father,

stood distantly behind him. This confused Celetain. Each Elder spoke but

Celetain heard only music; different tunes emanating from each one's

mouth.
168 AmerIndian 2192

Suddenly she could her feel physical body falling and the dream

changed from soft fluid vision to a cruel, crisp clarity; everything brilliant and

sharp. She could see four men each in a separate shell. One man glowed a

brilliant blue, a powerful illumination shown through his shell. The second

man burned with flame, green and black, he was in terrible pain and yet he

remained silent. The third man was covered with a dim white light and she

could see fear on him, not for himself but for the others. The final man had

no flesh and a dark figure, cold and black and not shaped like a man, hugged

him through his cracked shell.

Celetain sensed the present danger these men faced, but did not know

who they were. The clarity and brilliance began to dim and she realized that

she was slipping from the dream. She surged back, pushing and pulling with

her mind, refusing to awaken, sliding back into the dream.

She spoke to the men. “Who are you? Where are you?” None

responded and she knew why. This was not their realm. Not their place to

speak. But she knew who could hear her. “Who are these men and what is

this place?”

The dark figure unfurled his arms and released the skeleton in the

shell. It came forward moving without movement. She could feel it studying

her.

“Why should I answer you, witch?” His words spewed forth and

speckled on her face.

 J. Scott Garibay 169

Celetain pulled herself to a position of strength in the realm. She

yelled, “Because if you don't I will bind you by your name and even if I

cannot hold you the others will know that for a moment you were mine.

Speak, dark spirit!”

“This one,” the midnight figure's arm pointed to the brilliant blue man,

“is the beginning of the end for you and yours. He will start the flow for the

river of blood. Blood is the only payment for that which you seek. This one,”

the black form extended a tendril arm toward the man engulfed in green and

black flame, “will be the blood bringer's strength, and the last,” he pointed to

the man of white light, “will be part of his wisdom. There will be others.”

Celetain looked past the dark figure trying to ascertain where the men

were. “This place is the Homelands.” The figure said with a strange finality.

Celetain saw thousands and thousands of rocks floating behind the

men. Each rock dripped with blood, long strands of the fluid undulating

between them as they rolled and crashed. Celetain strained to stay but

exhaustion washed over her and she slipped from the dream. She woke to a

sharp pain along her cheekbone. She was sprawled on the floor and Broge

was kneeling, his face just above her face.

“Celetain, Celetain…” He sounded frightened.

“I am fine now, Broge. Please, help me up.” Broge rushed to lift her

gently and seated her again. She took another sip of the hot chocolate. In a

moment, she was composed.

170 AmerIndian 2192

“Broge, I want a liaison from each tribe to meet me in the Weapons

Hall at the start of the next hour.” She rose and donned the heavy green

cloak she wore in the halls and pulled up the voluminous hood. She left the

room quickly.

Broge did not hesitate at setting to his task. He finger tapped and

began selecting the liaison from each of the eight tribes.

On Desperado, an Apache Lodge Ship at Steel Circle, Keokuk closed his

physical eyes and let the data flow before his mind’s eye. He communicated

with the comp at near the speed of thought thanks to over two decades of

experience with the tools of his trade. The trick was to be able to ask the

right questions in the right way. Right now thousands of figures flashed

before his eyes regarding the RZ 140 Slammer Rail Gun.

Kugan’s operatives had purchased fifty of these massive ship mounted

slug throwers. Firing a twenty centimeter slug at an accurate range of

fourteen kilometers the Slammer had been a bargain at any price, the only

problem was the guns were now giving the ship's server fits with all the

custom adjustments each Slammer's specific tribal gunner was trying to

program into it. Keokuk was now stripping out the clumsy programming each

gunner had created and replacing it with clean, fluid code that would give

each gunner the custom performance he was looking for without leaving

code sludge on the ship’s server.

 J. Scott Garibay 171

Desperado's server ran at eighty-three percent efficiency, four points

higher than any other ship in the Confederacy and Keokuk had plans to

increase that figure dramatically. Everything had to be tight, every code line,

every subroutine. He was half way through the Slammer project when the

line appeared across his comp set reading, “Your presence is requested in

the real world.”

With a finger tap Keokuk made the lenses of his comp set translucent

and swiveled his chair. He stopped abruptly. Before him stood Celetain Prax,

the Elder Shaman, with a cadre of Acolytes behind her. Keokuk was startled.

He saw Elder John on a regular basis and he had dealt with each of the other

Elders occasionally but this was the first time he had ever been this close to

Prax. He also could not remember her being on Desperado before.

“Elder Prax,” he stammered, standing immediately. “How may I help

you today?”

Celetain stepped forward. “Your brother is in great danger. I have

arranged for transport to Naanac. The outrider ship's departure waits only for

you.”

Keokuk stared a moment and then answered, “Thank you, Elder Prax. I

have a ready bag in my room. If one of your Acolytes would lead me to the

ship.”

Ten minutes later Keokuk was on board Thunder Lizard, an eighty

metric ton outrider ship with a crew of one hundred and berths for fifty body
172 AmerIndian 2192

tanks. Thunder Lizard was loaded for bear. Troops bustled past Keokuk who

sat quietly near a view window. A steady stream of white shooting stars filled

his view. The ship was now cruising at 20,000 K.P.H. putting some distance

between the gathering of lodge ships and its jump point.

Naanac was billions light years away. The number crunching to

accomplish the jump took just over twenty-seven hours and that had been a

rush job. Keokuk felt angry and frustrated. He had been unable to contact

Celetain after she left him and the Acolytes would give no details about what

danger Wovoka and his pack faced. It surprised him that Celetain had known

about the situation for over a day now but had saw fit to give him only ten

minutes notice.

Keokuk strained to understand why Celetain was bringing him on this

rescue op, but could think of no logical reason. It was unlikely whatever

struggles Wovoka's pack had run into involved a comp problem. He was,

however, selfishly glad that he might have a chance to pull Wovoka’s bacon

out of the frying pan. That would anger his brother and that was just fine

with him. Keokuk pulled a passage from the Gospel of Luke and continued his

personal study on Predestination versus Free Will.

The distinct tremor of surging power could be felt as the catalyst

chamber of the outrider ship prepped for the firing that would take the vessel

across thousands of galaxies, instantly. The sole piece of equipment that had

propelled mankind out into the stars had been the Kellion Cannon. All lodge

ships and outrider ships carried one.

 J. Scott Garibay 173

Invented in 2052 by Otto Kellion, a German physicist, the Kellion

Cannon was the linchpin for the creation of the UDA. The modern Kellion

Cannon was the product of two critical technology elements - the theory of

correspondence and gravity control. The Correspondence Theory was the

doctoral dissertation of Asian Indian Harvard student Tobuton Hasani. It was

never published in any journal and actually was given only a satisfactory

grade by Hasani's professors.

Kellion found the Correspondence Theory buried on the colossal

Harvard web site when he was twelve. He studied it for thirteen years and

began designing the Kellion Cannon in 2046. In 2050 he went to a Las Vegas

tech convention to look for an investor. Silas Mar put up the creds necessary

to begin construction on the first Kellion Cannon ship, Furor, in 2051. Furor

was completed in 2054. Silas Mar waited to use Furor as a trump card to aid

the creation of the UDA.

The Kellion Cannon had three major components. A Nagasphere, kept

in a large draw chamber, powered the unit. The catalyst chamber, located

directly behind the draw chamber, was where the correspondence plane was

initiated. The catalyst chamber was a cube that measured six meters high,

wide and long. The barrel of the cannon measured a standard 131 meters

long, three meters in diameter. All Kellion Cannons were exactly alike and

built to extreme specificity. Attempts to adjust Kellion's final design produced

cannons that sent ships galaxies off the mark. Even forty years after its

invention, Kellion's design was operational, but not fully understood.

174 AmerIndian 2192

When a Kellion Cannon ship intended to use its Kellion Cannon it set its

navcomp working on the correspondence code to merge two planes of atoms

in two locations into one. Traveling by correspondence plane was referred to

as “firing.” Distance had absolutely no effect on how much time or energy

was required to complete the union. What were important were the gravity

signatures of the two points to be united. If the areas being traveled from

and to were gravity charted then the calculations took significantly less time

and were far more accurate in creating the union. Gravity charting was a

process by which the interstellar gravity forces of an area were studied and

specifically valued. The UDA had a fleet of two hundred voyager ships that

did nothing but gravity chart new systems. Charting could be done through a

telescope but with considerably less accuracy.

Calculating a correspondence code between two points was simpler for

the navcomps the farther away the points were from a major gravity source.

The task became impossible if either point was closer than one hundred

thousand kilometers from a major gravity source. A body half the size of the

Earth’s moon constituted a major gravity source. A navcomp took only a few

minutes to calculate a correspondence code between two optimum points

that were charted and at least two million kilometers away from a major

gravity source. Attempting a jump to or from a system that was uncharted

would extend the time necessary to calculate a correspondence code to

hours or even days.

 J. Scott Garibay 175

The chance for a slip increased dramatically when a union was

attempted to or from an uncharted area. A slip occurred when a Kellion

Cannon ship made a correspondence plane and the code used did not

correspond to the point the navcomp calculated it would. A slip could place a

ship kilometers or galaxies off the mark. There was an eight-day time barrier

where no more calculating time will lend accuracy to a correspondence code.

It took another twenty minutes to reach the firing point and during that

time Keokuk pondered the fact that Wovoka faced serious danger and still all

he could feel was intense anger toward his only sibling.

“Attention, Code Nine in sixty seconds.” Keokuk looked up and

watched as all the troops around him checked their weapons and keyed last

minute code into their comps. All AmerIndian Confederacy personnel

assumed battle readiness before their ship fired through a correspondence

plane. They never knew if UDA ships would be waiting on the other side.

Keokuk had been through hundreds of firings in his lifetime. The

soldiers around him took their seats. He could hear the hum of the Kellion

Cannon charging. Soon the cannon would fire a stream of energy into a

single plane of atoms one kilometer from the ship’s current position. The ship

would fly into that plane and travel through to another plane thousands of

galaxies away, exactly as navigated. Keokuk braced himself for the firing.

Traveling through interstellar distances was excruciatingly painful.

What made it bearable was the time it took a persons body to travel through
176 AmerIndian 2192

the source of the pain, the correspondence plane, was only a fraction of a

second. It left most travelers with something akin to the memory of intense

outward pressure. Keokuk felt the surge, he saw an instant flash of black and

he knew he had just traveled a distance of billions of light years. He noticed

the soldiers tense, each waiting for the shields to be pummeled with laser

fire.

Keokuk carried no weapon and could not directly operate any of the

ship's weaponry (although he had written code for most of them). He

suddenly felt useless. A minute passed and a soft gong rang over everyone’s

comp set informing those not near glasteel hull sections that the ship was

not under attack. Keokuk looked out on a brilliant star blazing mint green

light.

He wandered the ship to keep his mind off the tension. Thunder Lizard

was an atypical outrider ship. The crew compartments were more spacious

than the body tank warrior’s compartments. Two to a room with beds and a

desk as compared to six berths to a room for the body tank warriors. There

was a large gym area for the troops and a huge common room in the center

of the ship where crew and body tank warriors could workout and socialize.

Part of the AmerIndian Confederacy's commitment to fighting sation

addiction was to encourage old traditional games such as pool and darts. The

ship was also equipped with a shooting and archery range. Keokuk was

surprised to see the common room relatively empty. He realized most of the

tribal warriors were sitting quietly, waiting for action.

 J. Scott Garibay 177

Every Apache troop on the ship knew Wovoka and the members of his

pack, Jade Dagger. Wovoka's Infiltrator pack had laid the groundwork for

many of their own operations. Wovoka was respected and each Apache

warrior now eagerly awaited the opportunity to help him. Keokuk considered

what they would find. According to an Acolyte, the chunnel would be closed

by now and Keokuk knew there was not enough equipment on this ship to

build two kilometers of chunnel.

If the Trighter had made it through the chunnel this would be a quick

mission. The most likely outcome, Keokuk thought, would be to find the

Trighter had not made it through and Jade Dagger was still trapped on

Naanac. Keokuk found his walk had led him to the ship's bridge. Keokuk

entered the bridge. Captain Squahana recognized him and did not shoo him

out. He thankfully stood quietly behind the Nez Perce pilot.

Naanac grew larger by the moment. The ship's speed became evident

as the planet filled the main window. The pilot veered the ship sharply into

orbit twenty kilometers above the Free Mantle.

“Scan for life signs and watch for AC hailing signals,” the captain

ordered.

Keokuk saw nothing below but the pandemonium of the Free Mantle.

There were no obvious signs of a ship battle but Naanac had a circumference

of eleven thousand kilometers. A great deal of area to search.

178 AmerIndian 2192

“Dispatch all eight Obsidian Tigers. Set six on concentric search

patterns around the planet, have the other two, Rogue Four and Six, flank

the ship at five hundred klicks where they can keep an eye on us.”

Jet Tigers were the AmerIndian Confederacy's workhorse fighters.

Thirty years old, the Jet Tigers were mainstay fighters from the Periphery

campaigns of the 2160's. They were heavy and slow compared to today's

fighters but they ran forever on little maintenance and carried standard four

conventional lasers, two under-wing bombs and a rail gun under the nose.

Keokuk watched as some of the Jet Tigers arched away from Thunder Lizard.

Keokuk piggybacked the pilots comp set. Two graphics appeared on his

lenses, each a flat bar in a circle. If sensors detected life signs or hailing

signals the bar would spike.

Keokuk knew in ideal situations the bars would remain static until

something was detected, but the interference from the Free Mantle made the

bars jump and small spikes appeared every few seconds. The sensors would

be useless. Captain Squahana finger tapped down the sensors and ordered

troops to set up watch at every glasteel hull section on the ship facing the

Free Mantle. An hour passed with nothing found and Keokuk began to wonder

what the chances were Wovoka and his pack were still on Naanac.

Four more long hours passed before Keokuk heard, “Rogue three to

Mother, copy tango 659342. Center in. I have found objective. I have found

objective.”
 J. Scott Garibay 179

“Thank you, Jesus,” Keokuk said.

He felt the movement of the ship as it veered toward the coordinates.

Keokuk forced himself not to rush as he made his way down to the main

airlock, a large circular set of doors that split along the middle and rolled

back along the hull sections. Six body tank warriors crammed into the

airlock. Keokuk watched as the second set of doors hissed open and the

warriors floated out randomly then locked in their boosters and shot away. It

seemed like forever to Keokuk before anyone returned. Two body tank

warriors appeared in the window carrying another body tank. The contrast

between the suits was striking. The two Thunder Lizard body tanks gleamed

bright red and their caution lights blinked brightly. All of the paint had been

scraped off the body tank they were holding. It was covered in dents and the

left caution light blinked dimly while the other remained off.

Keokuk could not tell who was in the body tank due to the absence of

any markings. Two medics ran up to the body tank and quickly threw the

latches. They pulled away the top half of the body tank and Keokuk

approached and barely recognized Wolf Plume when he saw him. His hair and

beard were soaked with perspiration and yet his lips were dry, cracked, and

bleeding. He drank just a small bit of water the medics gave him and looked

at Keokuk.

“Thank you.”

Keokuk nodded, “Drink, Wolf Plume. Drink.”

180 AmerIndian 2192

More body tank warriors brought in Cavaho, who refused to sit and got

out of his body tank without assistance, despite his obvious weariness.

Wovoka was the next to be brought in to the ship. They open his body tank

and offered him water, which he pushed away.

“Captain Squahana, thank you, thank you. Now please get us back to

the Steel Circle. I have urgent business there.”

Squahana cocked his head, he was not used to Infiltrators telling him

when and where to take his ship, but for some reason he did not question

Wovoka. Just nodded and commanded his ‘gator to start running the

numbers through the navcomp to get back to the Steel Circle. Keokuk helped

Wovoka to his feet. Wovoka stumbled forward.

“Wovoka, slow down. You have to rest a moment. We still have to wait

for Slow Turtle. Last as always.”

Wovoka looked Keokuk in the eye.

Keokuk had never seen what he saw now in his brother’s eyes, utter

devastation. It shocked him and he stepped back.

Tears started and Wovoka broke down into deep uncontrolled sobbing.

Keokuk was frightened by what he saw because it was completely without

precedence.

The last body tank warrior pulled Slow Turtle's suit into the ship and

the medics threw open the suit exposing only a corpse. Keokuk lost breath.

He had seen Wovoka and his pack return from dozens of missions. He had
 J. Scott Garibay 181

seen them come back battered, beaten, and bleeding, but always alive. One

mission had sent Cavaho back with a three-inch tree limb shoved through his

shoulder. The meds had patched him up and he was back with the pack in a

week. Keokuk had begun to believe in the pack's invulnerability. He now

remembered what Wolf Plume had once told him, “There are only two

reasons any of us are alive; our ability to work as a pack and Wovoka's skill

as a leader.”

Keokuk helped the medics carry Wovoka, limp, to an officer’s quarters,

trying to get him to drink as they went. Wovoka sipped lightly at the water

letting half of it spill on the floor. The medics put Wovoka down on the bed.

“Leave,” Wovoka said in a raspy voice.

The medics and Keokuk all looked at each other, none of them sure to

whom Wovoka was speaking.

“I need to speak to my brother.”

“Pack Alpha, we must tend to your…”

“Leave,” Wovoka's insisted.

The medics left and Keokuk remained silent. He felt confused, not

knowing how to handle what was happening.

“Keokuk. I lost Slow Turtle. I lost…” Suddenly the power was gone and

Keokuk only saw a boy. His little brother, in pain. For the first time in thirteen

years he stepped toward his brother and spread his arms. He embraced him.

“It's all right, Wovoka. It is all right. Slow Turtle is not lost.”
182 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka wept and Keokuk held him tighter.

 J. Scott Garibay 183

CHAPTER 14

2179 – Surface of UDA Colony Planet, White Earth

David Stone Rain knew when he uttered the words that he was

ordering the death of six tribals. “Hold position Eagle One. Break out the

heavies, do not let Outriders pass your position.”

The fat tires of the King Rat combat buggy spun chunks of healthy

green grass and moist brown soil as Stone Rain's driver swerved hard to

avoid a large rut in the path to the planet gun.

“Papa Eagle, this is Eagle One. Breaking out heavies now. We are

moving in to cut UDA body tank troops short. Make it count.”

Stone Rain shook his head as the King Rat sailed over a bluff. He

ignored the maelstrom of violence that surrounded him and refocused his

eyes to the comp set he wore. He saw an overhead view of the battlefield.

He finger tapped and his keying bands read the movement and adjusted the

view on his comp set. “Eagle Two and Seven, move now to point 07634.
184 AmerIndian 2192

Hover tank, moving in. All units increase spread by 150 meters. Air strike will

hit in two minutes, forty seconds.”

Stone Rain was pleased to see his go-team was now half a kilometer

from the planet gun. He tried to ignore the fact that a dozen small icons

blinked off in the little time he had the overview off. A tap of his fingers cut

off the overview and with a quick fluid motion, Stone Rain raised his Sledge

Lawbringer. He finger tapped a link to the weapon into his comp set and

locked onto a fast moving UDA scout vehicle after fifteen seconds of frenzied

tracking. When the scout vehicle was suddenly surrounded by bright blinking

brackets he squeezed the fire button. The Lawbringer kicked. Stone Rain did

not bother to watch the bolt of energy burn a path to and through the

vehicle.

The King Rat was now sliding sideways as the driver adjusted his

course to avoid a large area of jutting rocks. Stone Rain took in the beautiful

landscape of White Earth. The grassy plain the King Rat now sped over was

part of a six hundred kilometer square vacation dude ranch enjoyed by the

UDA elite. The entire planet was covered by posh entertainment resorts in

varying guises built by and for the UDA elite.

The ground shook as the planet gun rocked off a blazing shaft of hard

light. Stone Rain's comp set automatically dimmed to lessen the brief

blindness the flash caused. Far above, a lodge ship's aft section exploded

into shards of plasteel, destroyed electronics and scattered bodies. The

massive ship's engine continued to surge it forward until it careened slowly

 J. Scott Garibay 185

toward White Earth’s atmosphere where it would burn to thousands of small

wet plasteel globules.

“Papa Eagle, this is Eagle Six…” Static jumped across the link as UDA

jammers scrambled the feed. A few seconds later when the AmerIndian

ciphers defeated the jammers, Stone Rain caught the message repeat.

“Approaching Goliath now. We have adequate support fire. Pack will be in

position in thirty seconds. Additional twenty seconds for HE plant. Suggest

you pull in the transport now. Echo back, Papa Eagle.”

Stone rain leaned in into his driver as the Rat King slid across the top

of a low hill. “Just the way we practiced it, Eagle Six. I'm pulling the transport

to us so it’s got to be done now. No second shot. The UDA air support is

close.” Stone Rain tapped his fingers and switched frequencies. “Red

Tomahawk, Mescelero and Speckled Snake. Full Evac now on my

coordinates.” A tap of the finger and he opened all units frequency. “All units

rally back to Papa Eagle. Evac in two minutes, fifty seconds -”

Stone Rain whipped his head back as he heard the distinct wail of the

UDA Wraiths. Long, slim, black fighters swooped low. They strafed the

ground in a tight pattern. The six Wraiths were on a path that took them four

or five kilometers south of Stone Rain. His comp set was clear of information.

He knew if he accessed the unit tracker dozens of icons would be blinking off

as the fighters mowed down his men. A brief relief came to him as the

Wraiths raced past the range of his men and he caught sight of AmerIndian
186 AmerIndian 2192

Confederacy Jet Tigers screaming ahead of the transports. His relief died

quickly as two Wraiths cut hard and headed straight toward his King Rat.

One fighter burned ahead of the other and began spraying hard light a

kilometer before it reached the King Rat. Stone Rain knew the tactic. His

driver was now wheeling the buggy around to avoid the approaching fire.

The following wingman would watch where the King Rat ran and pin the

buggy down. Stone Rain, however, kept his mouth shut knowing his driver

was aware of the fighter's plan. The driver would get them out or he

wouldn't. The tires sprayed soil and grass in every direction as the driver

tried desperately to put them over the next hill. The driver yelled, “We're

locked, BAIL!”

The driver finger tapped and their restraint harnesses released

automatically. The two dove from the King Rat as it sailed over the edge of

the hill. The hard light cannon of the following Wraith blazed, one beam

catching the King Rat at the apex of its jump. The King Rat shattered like a

glass balloon. Stone Rain hit the ground hard, his bones slamming into his

muscles and lungs. He rolled and before he came to a rest he felt a sharp

pain run from his lower stomach to his back. He stopped rolling and could

not move as his body struggled to refill his lungs with air.

From where he lay Stone Rain could see the stars. They were beautiful.

Everything on White Earth was beautiful. Colored flashes passed from point

to point in the sky, AC lodge ships firing on UDA colony ships. Stone Rain

began to become aware of the intense pain in his abdomen. As his blood
 J. Scott Garibay 187

flowed onto the White Earth plains, it occurred to him that he would rather

continue to lay and watch the beautiful stars above than sit up and see the

piece of ferroplast roll bar that jutted from his stomach.

The stars were gone. Stone Rain recognized the soft light of overhead

glowplast. The hallway zoomed by. Even at this speed, with tribals running at

the sides of his gurney, Stone Rain could tell he was not on an Apache lodge

ship. The bright, carved, curved symbols of shaman magic told him he was

on the Haida lodge ship. A sharp right and the gurney entered the medicine

house of Morningstar Prax, chief of the Haida and the AmerIndian

Confederacy's most skilled Shaman Healer. He could smell the healing herbs

and feel the power in the room.

Morningstar's harshly attractive features filled his view. “Attention,

warrior. Awaken, Stone Rain. Your battle is not over.” Morningstar clapped

her hands in his face. It startled Stone Rain and the realization that his body

was broken flooded back. Pain assaulted him.

Stone Rain heard the deep, resonant chanting of Morningstar's

assistants. Morningstar was now moving her hands in smooth, slow arcs.

Stone Rain could feel his blood flowing out of him, slower now. He could hear

each drop hit the plasteel floor below. A moment of chanting and ritual

passed and Morningstar moved back in. She lowered her hands to Stone
188 AmerIndian 2192

Rain's abdomen. He felt her power as she pulled the rollbar fragment out of

him.

Morningstar turned, handing the bloody ferroplast to an assistant. She

closed her eyes, letting the sound of the drums refill her soul with healing

power. As she did this, one of her assistants injected Stone Rain and shunted

a medicinal lead into his forearm. He could see the pain on Morningstar’s

face as he watched her gather more power than she could safely contain.

Her hands came down again to his body and he was consumed by raw,

unabated energy that pulled and wove at his wound. Morningstar fell back,

spent and dazed. Two assistants rushed to her side. Stone Rain felt energy,

winding, spinning at the imperfections of his body. As the healing began

Stone Rain understood the Haida's work more clearly.

Morningstar’s healing power did not mend and recreate, it simply

vitalized the healing forces within his body. As the magic searched for vitality

to be strengthened, there was little to be found. Too much of his essence lay

on a dark patch of grass back on White Earth, too much soaked the gurney

and floor beneath him. Stone Rain knew he was about to die. “My fam-

family…”

The lead assistant stepped forward. “No, warrior. We can heal you. Lie

still, but do not surrender.”

“No.” His voice was laced with weakness. “Bring them to me.”
 J. Scott Garibay 189

Peshlakai rushed forward. “I am here, brave. Your sons as well.” His

wife, a dark, striking beauty, spoke quickly, as she did when she was upset.

Stone Rain grabbed her hand. “Th- Thank you, Peshlakai.” He

squeezed her fingers but there was no force in the gesture. Weakness from a

man who had always been her strength made her erupt in tears. Her one

and only love lay broken before her.

“I lo- I lo-” he stammered at the words but there was more than the

gaping wound that kept him from saying them.

“I know, brave. I know.” Peshlakai kissed his forehead. He had never

been good at any point in their seventeen years of marriage at expressing

his love to her in words. But he had told her one thousand times in his

faithfulness, hard work and physical touch.

“My sons…”

Peshlakai nodded and kissed him once again. His lips were growing

cold. Two boys stepped forward. Despite the four years difference between

the two they were the same height. The similarities ended there. Keokuk, the

older son, was heavy and his head was shaved in the style of the Tsimshian

codejack. Wovoka, only twelve, was well muscled, lean, and his black hair

was long and straight. He wore the black Apache uniform, festooned with the

weapons harness, pockets and clips of an Infiltrator.

Stone Rain again reached out. Wovoka took his hand immediately.

Keokuk did not move. “Wovoka, son…” He coughed and shuddered with the
190 AmerIndian 2192

sheer impact of the action. “I am proud of what you are and I am proud of

what you will be. Did my force take the planet gun?”

“Yes, father. G Spec's pack leveled it with the ape load. Evac brought

back fifty-six percent of the force.”

Stone Rain pulled himself forward with tremendous effort. “Good,

Good. I believe I earned my second name today. I would have earned Great

Brother status today. When Coganthan passed on I would…”

“No father, you will be chief of the Apache. Let the shaman use her

power…”

“No, Wovoka. I pass to the great river today. I am not afraid. But I have

failed in my life vision. I have failed in my service to the Apache, in my

service to Elder Weaver. But you will not fail, Wovoka. You are smarter,

stronger, faster than I ever was.” Stone Rain stopped. Tears rolled from his

eyes. Peshlakai gasped because it was the only time she had ever seen him

shed a tear. “You are beautiful, my son. You will carry our family to great

heights in the AC. Now swear to me son. Swear that you will complete what I

started. That you will become chief of the Apache.”

“Father,” Wovoka hesitated, tears streamed down his face as he

searched for the words to tell his father that he was only a boy. As he looked

down on the man who had served the AmerIndian Confederacy tirelessly

every day of Wovoka's life, he could find no such words. “I will be chief of the
 J. Scott Garibay 191

Apache. I swear this to you and Wakonda. I will complete what you have

started. I will claim what you have earned.”

Stone Rain leaned up and pulled Wovoka to him, kissing his cheek. He

held on to Wovoka and Wovoka straightened, pulling his father upright. A

patch of dark red grew around his stomach again as the bleeding intensified

from his movement.

“Keokuk.” Keokuk did not move. He watched his father. “Your choices

shame our family. In one harvest you will become a tribal. Your mother and

brother will need you. You must stay with the Apache tribe. Continue playing

your tech games if you choose, but you must join the Apache. Swear to me

that you will not betray my memory. Swear to me you will not join the

Tsimshian. Swear to me that you will serve the Apache honorably under your

brother’s leadership.”

Keokuk stood motionless. No tears formed in his eyes. They were

burned away by his hatred. He did not answer. The silence grew thick and

arid.

“Swear it!” His father shouted and he fell forward coughing blood onto

Wovoka's uniform.

“I swear that I will join the Apache and not the Tsimshian tribe. This I

swear to you and Wakonda.” Keokuk stared at the husk of the man before

him with contempt.

“Good, good.”
192 AmerIndian 2192

Stone Rain let go of his life. Wovoka howled in rage and his mother

wailed, falling to her knees. Morningstar hung her head. Keokuk turned his

back and walked out of the room.

 J. Scott Garibay 193

CHAPTER 15

One by one, sixty-four UDA ships surged into the Carina Galaxy. They

loomed like a school of sharks above Outpost Laharl 642. An oblong shape

resembling a fat potato, the sixteen hundred kilometer ice chunk blazed a

bright white marbled light. Chaotic gasses whipped across its surface,

carrying sharp, deadly shards of ice. Surprisingly, the outpost had been

terraformed along its topside and now a served as plush get-away for those

in the UDA elite who enjoyed the game of golf. Outpost Laharl 642 was noted

as the best outpost course in all of core space and rivaled mediocre courses

on Earth.

Lige gave standing orders to his first and was aboard his shuttle,

Tiberius, in moments. It appeared that the entire staff of the Calgas golf

course was lined up in neat rows to greet him. They applauded as Lige

tramped down the ramp. Jaret followed close behind him. Lige stopped for a

moment and waved in a friendly manner to those gathered. A man in a

brilliant white suit came forward and clasped his hand.

194 AmerIndian 2192

Jaret looked up taking in the gorgeous view, stars shining through the

atmosphere dome. Jaret then scanned the hundreds of workers in front of

him.

“Admiral Lige, we have eagerly anticipated your arrival. President

Sullivan is waiting. Please, if you will follow me.” The man in white turned

and led the way.

The group walked briskly through the employees flanking them on both

sides. All smiled brightly at Lige, particularly the women. Jaret kept pace.

They were approaching the end of the employees and were about to enter a

tunnel that led down into the hotel sections of the outpost.

Jaret saw the frowns on the faces of the employees being pushed. A

young woman wearing the same white outfit as the rest was breaking

forward. He could not see the pistol but he knew it was there. He whirled, his

hand reaching behind him. The young woman was screaming now, “Libre-.”

Employees were now diving away from her. The boom of the hand

cannon roared and an employee screamed as his foot exploded. Then there

was stillness.

Jaret stood motionless with his diamond-coated katana in both hands.

The girl’s forearm and hand, clenching the pistol, lay on the ground where it

twitched trying again to pull the trigger. The girl's yell halted and she stared

as blood fountained out of her arm.

 J. Scott Garibay 195

Everyone surged away and into action. Employees were surrounding

Lige to protect him. Jaret drew his pistol and stood waiting for a second

attempt. None came.

The greeter was now stammering, “Admiral, we can not extend the full

extent of our apologies. We do everything we can to hire only productive,

loyal UDA citizens. What can we do to make up for this catastrophe?”

Lige laughed and stepped around the man to get a better look at

Jaret's handiwork. “And they said these things were antiquated.” Lige

indicated the long gleaming katana Jaret now wiped with a cloth proffered by

one of the employees.

“As you have drilled into our troops, sir, it is not the weapon that kills, it

is the skill,” Jaret said as he returned the katana to the sheath on his back.

The greeter licked Lige’s boots a bit more while the medics scrambled

to stop the torrent of blood that sprayed from the girls severed arm. Lige

began to walk again and said quietly to the greeter, “You asked what you

could do to make up for the insult I have received today. It would save the

UDA taxpayers much credit if that assassin were not afforded the liberty of a

trial. Perhaps your medics could be persuaded to work at the efficiency they

use on their own enemies.”

The greeter seemed upset for a moment. This was not within the scope

of his usual duties, but soon he smiled and said, “I'll see what I can do.” The

employees had now lost their usual smile and a few carried worried grins.
196 AmerIndian 2192

Now almost as many eyes were on Jaret as Lige. The tunnel leading below

was mirrored and Lige walked quickly on the moving autowalk. Soon they

were in the unparalleled opulence of a five star hotel. The elevators featured

the latest model wall screens showing fly-over scenes of Outpost Laharl

642's golf course. They arrived at the seventh underground level.

Lige and Jaret were led into a ballroom, geometric shapes and figures

played on the wall screens. Lige pointed nonchalantly to a point on the wall

and Jaret posted himself there. In the center of the room was a small table

draped in white cloth. UDA President Sullivan sat quietly waiting. He rose as

Lige approached and extended his hand. Lige ignored it and went to the

opposite seat at the table.

The greeter gave up any hopes of exchanging pleasantries with the

President and hurried from the room. President Sullivan lost the cheerful

demeanor and sat. He opened his mouth to speak and Lige raised his finger

and glared.

Lige spoke evenly. “Vincent, you are a politician, a bureaucrat. You

have reached the highest level of that profession and you probably believe

that you wield a considerable measure of power. Fifty billion citizens are

affected by your decisions and yet when it comes right down to it, you are

prey. You are where you are because certain men wish you to be there. These

men, myself included, are predators. Understand what you are and what I am

and listen carefully to my words. Do not threaten me. How many men have

you seen me personally grind beneath my boot? Do you honestly believe

 J. Scott Garibay 197

that there are any less than a dozen ways I can strip you of your power in

less than one week?”

Sullivan shook with rage. “How dare you…”

With that Lige reached across the table and slapped Sullivan across the

face, hard. Sullivan, stunned, did not speak for a moment. Then he roared,

“Arrest this man.”

His bodyguards did not move.

“I gave you an order,” Sullivan said weakly, surprised.

Lige was out of his seat. He grabbed Sullivan by the hair and yanked

his face toward himself. “Your guards are supplied by me, the best of my

best. They are soldiers with little tolerance for your weakness. Who do you

think trained them? Who controls their military destinies? You do not give

orders, politician. I, Admiral Lige, do. I have ordered these men to protect

your life with their own. They are not acting now because they know I have

no intention of killing you today. You know I control three quarters of the UDA

army. What makes you think your cadre of men would escape my grasp?”

He threw Sullivan forward and his head bounced off the table with a

clatter of steel and porcelain. Lige sat.

Sullivan was crying. Lige waited. “Now I believe we have taken stock of

the true nature of our relationship. There is no need for this to ever happen

again. I need you to calm yourself. We have some matters of importance to

discuss.”
198 AmerIndian 2192

Sullivan did what he was told. “Lige, please, I need to know what is

going on with my daughter.”

Lige's face changed and he showed compassion. “I know where your

daughter is. She is with the Confederacy and I can retrieve her at any time.”

Sullivan pleaded, “Then please for God's sake, do so.”

“Vincent, what purpose would it possibly serve? What I told you I

expected is true. Alexa joined the AC of her own volition. She seems to be

deeply involved with some Brule red skin. If I brought her back she would

only try to escape. She would be a serious embarrassment to you. Thank God

the media doesn't know where she is. Frankly, with my resources in the AC, I

can keep her under closer watch and safer where she is now than if I brought

her back. But I know you and Theresa miss her. I have an operative working

now to make it so she will want to come back. Her red skin is a demolition

man. He may become accident-prone on one of his upcoming missions. And

there are other sources I have that will persuade her that the AC is not her

home. Look, I brought you photos of Alexa.”

Lige presented Sullivan with three photos on his slate. The pictures had

been carefully edited to make sure there was no way to tell they were over

two months old. Sullivan looked at the photos, frowning at the red skin

soldier draped over his daughter like a cape. He grimaced at the broad smile

on her face. “These are two weeks old. Don't worry, Vincent. I am confident

we can have your daughter back, by her own choice, in a matter of months.”
 J. Scott Garibay 199

Sullivan appeared to be about to spit some sarcastic remark at Lige,

but thoughtfully held his tongue. Lige continued, “Let's discuss the White

Earth matter. The censor bureau has failed completely in controlling citizen

sentiment for the AC. The media reporters love them because they give

them deliciously bloody vid. We took the angle of demonizing the AC and the

citizens warmed to them from a mistrust of UDA media. When we try to

ignore the AC the independent producers point out this fact and use the vids

to soar their own ratings. Our victory over the AC does not lie in the media. It

lies in military annihilation. My sources inform me Elder Stormseeker is now

preparing battle plans for the spring to try again to take White Earth. I have

expressed our need to do everything we can to encourage Stormseeker's war

plans. As we have discussed I need your appropriations committee to grant

me five hundred million creds for fifty Hellfire systems and a Nuc Catapult to

be built on White Earth. How are we progressing on that front?”

Sullivan picked up a fork and played with it. “Gavon, I have enough pull

for perhaps thirty-five of the sixty votes needed, but the preservationists will

go nuts if this goes public.”

“We can keep this under wraps for four months,” Lige answered.

“This could ruin me if it gets out. Conventional and nuclear weapons

have been banned on all colonies, you know that,” Sullivan whined.

“You have to remember we are dealing with a major threat to our

government. The AC has rebuilt itself in the last thirteen years. If we had not
200 AmerIndian 2192

massacred them at White Earth then, how strong would they be now? How

strong will they be in another decade? You know the answer to that

question. Neither the masses nor the political body understand the danger

they pose. The masses see them as a romantic band of space pirates living

in hippie love harmony. UDA elites are too focused on their own concerns to

care. In reality the AC is a violent, uncontrolled cult and we must put it down.

I am not asking you to do something unethical, Vincent. I am asking you to

embrace the most ethical choice, to save the people from themselves.

Appropriate the funds any way you can. I will take care of the rest. By this

time next spring White Earth will be a planet arsenal and the AC will be no

more of a threat than AIM was two hundred years ago.”

Lige stood still and smiled at Sullivan. “Don't worry Vincent. All for the

best, no?”

Thunder Lizard pulled in slowly to the clamping mechanism of the

Brule lodge ship Cold Pyre. True to Brule nature Cold Pyre was a stark, simple

lodge ship. The Brule were the AmerIndian Confederacy's elite ground

warriors, the entire tribe obsessively dedicated to the art of warfare. Celetain

Prax made her home on Cold Pyre. Elders were not allowed to live on the

lodge ship of their respective tribe, a practice that helped each Elder be a

fair arbiter.
 J. Scott Garibay 201

Wovoka, Cavaho, Wolf Plume and Keokuk all first approached the

airlock. Word had been sent to Thunder Lizard as soon as it was through the

correspondence plane that Celetain Prax wished to speak to Wovoka before

he returned to Iron Bow. The airlock hissed open and the pack walked on to

Cold Pyre.

Celetain stood waiting for him, dressed in a tight hunter green suede

suit. Around the sleeves of her jacket and around her pant leg twisted a band

of neon colored runes. Her comp set shifted the runes’ colors from blue to

pink to bright silver. She brushed her straight black hair back away from her

almond face. Six acolytes stood behind her in the same garb. None carried a

weapon or wore any jewelry. They were a perfect AmerIndian Confederacy

mix; two true bloods, one Caucasian, a Hispanic and an African. Celetain did

not smile, did not speak, simply turned and walked.

Wovoka looked at Keokuk, shrugged and followed Celetain. Keokuk and

the others fell in behind Wovoka. They made their way through the halls of

the Brule lodge ship. In other lodge ships the halls were well-lit, little children

played tag and older tribals sat out on cartons playing cards or chess or

arguing over politics or showing old war wounds. The Brule lodge ship

hallways were dark save for bright red direction beacons. The halls were

empty, no playing children. In one area they passed a large gym. Below

dozens of tribal warriors screamed and fought a mock battle with coupsticks.

Wovoka, Keokuk, Wolf Plume and Cavaho followed Celetain and her Acolytes

as they used the auto-ladder to take them down fifty levels. When they
202 AmerIndian 2192

finally stopped they were close to the huge hangar door of Celetain's

workshop.

Celetain waved her hand in front of the door and the massive breaker

rolled back. The group entered a large dark room empty of furniture,

equipment, and decoration. After everyone was inside, Celetain walked to

the center of the room. It was dark except for the dim red light that came in

from the hallway. When Celetain stopped the floor flashed with a circle of

Haida symbols that matched some of those on her suit. She looked at the

four AmerIndians. “Come into the circle.”

She was both beautiful and frightening to Wovoka. Cavaho, Wolf

Plume, and Keokuk all walked into the circle after Wovoka. The Acolytes

walked around the circle, each stopping at a designated point. Wovoka

thought back remembering Celetain’s mother, Morningstar, who had been

chief of the Haida and the most powerful shaman in Confederacy history.

Wovoka clearly remembered her failed attempt to save his father thirteen

short years ago.

Morningstar was sought after to heal many ailments and her advice on

matters of the future had been respected. But Celetain Prax had taken her

mother's practice of shamanism to a new level with Cybershamanism.

Celetain’s digitized library of symbols, chant and new magical techniques

formed a strange mystical mixture of shamanism, sorcery and cybernetics.

Most of the old shamans had rebuked her saying what she did was not of the
 J. Scott Garibay 203

old ways, not AmerIndian. She had countered that she was pureblood

AmerIndian and that her new magic was therefore inherently AmerIndian.

Traditional Shamanism had been passive; fevers cured over a matter of

hours with herbs and chants. Celetain's magic was active; bullets pulled from

wounds by insects or snakes and no scar left in an hour or two. And like so

many of the AmerIndian Confederacy's pursuits the UDA world had

embraced the successes. The media loved Celetain and presented her as the

“Cybershaman Prophet”. The UDA media was not wrong to do so. Celetain

had already showed she could indeed tell the future. But for all her dark

ways, her diversions from tradition, she was nonetheless a beautiful,

intelligent woman who cared for the AmerIndian Confederacy and had

proved to be a good leader.

Now Wovoka could see many of the rumors he had heard were true.

What was most frightening about Celetain's magic was how difficult it was to

determine what was real and what was not. Hard light displays made

illusions child’s play. Celetain channeled spirits back to speak with those left

behind, but some wondered if the hard light displays that were often found in

work areas provided more than simple room lighting and ready comp data.

When a Kichai dealer had called her a fake she had touched his chest and

dozens of snakes had slithered from underneath his shirt. He had screamed

like a child and her detractors had kept their distance for a while.

“Comana Hena, he!” The acolytes sung softly in unison and the room

changed from the dark empty visage of a storage bay to the grey mossy
204 AmerIndian 2192

fertile ground of Naanac. Huge trees sprung up from the ground bearing

massive grey leaves. Wovoka looked at his feet and saw a reptilian squirrel-

like creature. What Wovoka was viewing was an incredible likeness of

Naanac. The program was superb.

Celetain's top comp jockey was Sliver. The tall, thin Caucasian had

made a name for himself by creating the Calamari Judas virus, a nasty comp

program that performed hit-and-run lobotomies on navcomp systems. The

UDA fleet had been grounded for six weeks while every UDA military

navcomp was sterilized. Fourteen UDA colony ships and thirty-seven UDA

prime ships disappeared after their comps used scrambled data in their

correspondence codes. Infected UDA ships were sent to the far-flung corners

of the universe. Only three of those ships were able to get back to a colony

or outpost. UDA citizens speculated the other ships were still making random

firings, hoping to come close to core space.

Something was wrong. Wovoka felt misty rain on his face. He brushed

his hand across his cheek. His hand was wet, covered with cold water. Hard

light displays could not do that. He watched as a tiny drop of water hit a leaf,

rolled to its tip and splashed on his outspread hand. He shook his head,

amazed. In a flash, the acolytes disappeared. Wovoka could see Keokuk was

flustered and he walked over and put his hand on his shoulder.

“It's all right,” he whispered.

Keokuk spat, “She's a witch. It was all true.”

 J. Scott Garibay 205

Wovoka shook his head. “She is a shaman, Keokuk. Nothing more and

nothing less. And she is our Elder. You have nothing to fear.”

Celetain turned. She stood a few meters away and looked directly at

Wovoka. “Are you prepared?”

Wovoka looked at Keokuk for a moment.

Wovoka turned back to Celetain. “Yes, Elder, I am prepared. I will tell

the Elder Council what I saw, the whole of the Vision. I will assist in whatever

way I can in whatever decision the Elders make.”

Celetain moved closer to Wovoka. “Wovoka, do you understand what

you saw?”

“Yes, I saw what Naanac is.”

“And what is Naanac?”

“It is the Homeland. It is the land for which we have searched for seven

hundred years.”

Keokuk, Wolf Plume and Cavaho looked at each other.

“And what part do you believe you will play in the events that are

about to unfold?”

“I, uh… I will tell the vision to the Elders. The Elders will take the vision

to the tribals. There will be a period of preparation for war. Wolf Plume says

we should be ready for war again in another two or three years. By then I am

confident my pack will be widely known from our successes. Perhaps I am

206 AmerIndian 2192

over confident, Elder, but I believe by that time I could be in command of the

Apache Tribe, their chief. I believe I will be an integral part in the Apache’s

service to claim Naanac.”

Celetain smiled broadly. “You understand much and little. Celetain's

voice rose and took on an echo, “Quarana, Que hasani.” All of her clothes

turned white as well as her hair and skin. The gentle brown of her eyes

disappeared and she stared at Wovoka with blank white orbs. “You will be an

integral part of our victory for you are the prophesied one, the White Buffalo.

You will lead our people to Naanac and claim the Homeland.”

Suddenly, her eyes swirled with colors and Wovoka stepped back. In an

instant her vision was his and he saw himself standing on a field on Naanac

as a battle raged around him. Hundreds were dying. He saw himself ordering

thousands more to their graves and the grey mossy patches he saw were

replaced with the color of blood. Now he could see Celetain again. Her eyes

were again blank, white.

Celetain reached out and put her hand over his face, pulling softly.

When she removed her hand his face was covered with gold war paint. “You

are the White Buffalo. You will deal a mighty blow to the UDA and the

AmerIndian Confederacy will inhabit Naanac before three days pass.”

Wovoka's mind raced. The White Buffalo, three days. It was impossible.

Celetain moved on as Wovoka reeled from her words. She approached

Keokuk, her hand covering his face just as she had done to Wovoka. She
 J. Scott Garibay 207

pulled her slender hands away and Keokuk's face was covered in green war

paint. “You will be the White Buffalo's mind. You will temper his anger with

wisdom and you will lay many obstacles low before his path.”

She moved to Wolf Plume and drew his war face. “You will be the White

Buffalo's eyes. Traps will be shown to you and Wovoka will see that which the

enemy has hidden for decades.”

At Cavaho, Celetain hesitated, her hand hovering close to his face.

Reflexively, Cavaho raised his hands to stop her from touching him. Her hand

turned and suddenly Cavaho’s arms were flung back. She grasped his face

tightly and he struggled against unseen forces holding him. “You will be the

White Buffalo's weapon, for you are the destroyer. You will spread your pain

like a plague and hundreds of thousands will die at your touch.” She

released him and the two stared at each other for a moment.

Rage played across Cavaho's face and she stared back blankly. Then

she fell. Celetain collapsed to the mossy ground and when she hit with a

thud the Naanac scenery melted and the large room was back, the symbols

swirling on the floor.

Five of the six acolytes rushed to Celetain, swarming around her and

tending her. Sliver stepped forward nodding to Keokuk. He then addressed all

of them. “We must get you ready. You speak tonight.” He then walked out

into the hall.

208 AmerIndian 2192

Reluctantly the four followed. Wovoka had fallen behind and was

obviously processing what he had been told. He lagged behind and Sliver

was about to turn and wait for him when Keokuk stepped next to Sliver and

maintained a quick pace. “I noticed, Sliver, that you did not mention to

Wovoka that Okala’s prophesy also says that once the White Buffalo leads

the people to the Homeland, he will banished.”

Sliver looked warily behind them and saw that Wovoka was still

absorbed in his thoughts. “No, it does not say that he will banished. Perhaps

‘set apart’ from the tribes for a time.”

Keokuk glared. “Is that how you interpret ‘he will be sent away from

the Red Man in shame, cast out for as long as the winds blow and rivers

flow’.”

“I was told you were a Christian. How do you know the prophecies?”

“I am a Christian because I have studied many religions, not because I

am ignorant of them.”

“This is not a concern, I assure you. Celetain will explain our view on

that particular section of the prophecy to you later.”

Keokuk shook his head and became silent as Sliver led them deeper to

the center of the Brule lodge ship. The few Brule warriors that crossed their

path turned and stared at Sliver's white robes with questions on their faces.

He directed the group into a well-lit room. Plush leather couches and chairs

sat in the center surrounded by books and scrolls that lined the wall. Keokuk
 J. Scott Garibay 209

recognized the room as Celetain’s library. The books and scrolls, rare and

ancient texts from Earth, were worth millions of UDA creds. No one sat.

Wolf Plume spoke first. “What in the name of Wambli is going on?”

Sliver mumbled in old Navaho, “It is as the Elder has foreseen.”

“What are you saying?” Wolf Plume growled.

“Celetain believes that Wovoka is the White Buffalo. She believes

Naanac is the Homeland foretold of in the prophecies of Okala. Celetain sees

that tonight Wovoka will convince the Elder Council to wage war against the

UDA in order to capture Naanac in the next three days.”

Wolf Plume stroked at his beard, “‘The land where the sun, the moon

and the stars will be blocked from sight day and night and yet the sky will

sparkle like gold dust.’ Yes, I can see why she thinks Naanac is the fulfillment

of Okala’s prophecies.”

Keokuk ignored Wolf Plume's musings, “Wage war? Do you mean a full

campaign, an invasion? The AmerIndian Confederacy is not prepared for

that, we are still not fully recovered from the White Earth Massacre. Wovoka

is a twenty-six year old Infiltrator Pack Alpha. He is going to have trouble

fighting other Infiltrator packs for a decent replacement for the man he lost.

What makes Celetain think the AmerIndian Confederacy would follow Wovoka

anywhere?”

Sliver sat in a plush leather chair and motioned for the rest to do the

same. None of them did. “One question at a time. First, we are ready for war.
210 AmerIndian 2192

For the past three years Stormseeker has been gathering all the pieces for

the second assault on White Earth. He plans to announce the assault on

White Earth soon. Celetain has foreseen that plan will fail and she will not

allow it. We have grown too large to surprise the UDA with virtually any plan.

Only a fast unpredictable strike will work against them now. Celetain wishes

to use Stormseeker's preparations for White Earth to take Naanac

immediately. Her reasons for this are many. The mercenary work we have

done over the last thirteen years has made us ready for war but if we

continue down that path any longer it will corrupt us. We are ready to take

Naanac. Your next question is how Celetain believes anyone will follow

Wovoka. They will follow Wovoka because he is the White Buffalo. He

received the true vision and Celetain recognizes it for what it is. The

obstacles to his leadership can be overcome.”

Wolf Plume asked, “Celetain’s prophecy? Is it destined to occur despite

whatever we choose?”

Cavaho cocked his head at this question, obviously interested in the

answer.

“No. What she showed you is one path. It is the only path to a

Homeland for the AmerIndian Confederacy in this century. What she saw will

only occur if you each play the role that has been set before you, if you make

the necessary sacrifices. We are looking at a window of opportunity. If we act

with courage and determination we can make those foreseen events a

reality. If any of you turns away, refuses the mask given to you, the window
 J. Scott Garibay 211

will close. But how many more generations of AmerIndians will be doomed to

live as homeless star wanderers?”

Cavaho turned his back to that answer. He slammed his fist against the

hard mahogany bookshelves, making a dull thud.

Keokuk continued, “So what do we do now?”

“First, Wovoka must speak to the AmerIndian Confederacy and tell

them what he has seen and where he will take them. We have something

that may help to that end. Wolf Plume and Cavaho, the acolytes have some

issues you should be aware of, so please go with Simonqua.”

The door slid open at Sliver's gesture and an acolyte waited quietly for

them. Both Wolf Plume and Cavaho looked at Wovoka. He nodded and they

exited.

“Wovoka, would you like some water, tea, milk?”

“Water please,” Wovoka said. Keokuk agreed and Sliver rose to get the

drinks.

“What you are about to do will appear to many to be a dangerous

mixture of heresy and treason. Frankly, your action will waylay the plans of

powerful individuals in the AmerIndian Confederacy. Claiming that Naanac,

an isolated, distant swamp planet, is the true Homeland of the AmerIndian

Confederacy, not Earth, the birthplace and sacred ground of the original

tribes, will upset many tribals. I can assure you, however, there is no other

way. The Confederacy needs an upheaval, a 180 degree turn from our
212 AmerIndian 2192

current course. Only by surprising our own people can we have any chance

of out maneuvering UDA forces.”

Wovoka and Keokuk sat in silence looking at Sliver. “Please take a few

moments, finish your drinks and then I will show you the first step of a long

journey.”

In a few minutes they were out again in the cold hallways of the Brule

lodge ship. They traveled half the length of the lodge ship, a full kilometer

and rode auto-ladders up forty decks. It struck Keokuk how similar all of the

decks were on the Brule ship. Other lodge ships were diverse with families,

occupation blocks or just jovial individuals decorating the halls with paint,

plants and pure artistic zeal.

All of the lodge ships were stolen UDA colony ships and they had been

originally built with very rigid, conventional architecture. The rooms were

designed with the same eye for efficiency and uniformity used to design UDA

prisons. All the other tribes had spent time and effort turning the prison cell

structures into homes suitable for AmerIndian life. They had taken down

thousands of walls that served no structural purpose and doubled, tripled or

even quadrupled the size of many rooms in the lodge ships. On the Diegueño

lodge ship every deck had nothing but gigantic community rooms where five

hundred to fifteen hundred people lived without any dividers between

families. In the Brule ship, no changes had been made to the original stark

UDA design.
 J. Scott Garibay 213

After a long hall they came into a wide-open, dimly lit mechanics bay.

There were two AmerIndian soldiers in the large room with their back to

Sliver, Wovoka and Keokuk. The three patiently waited as they observed the

interaction of the two soldiers. One AmerIndian was older appearing perhaps

forty by Earth standards and the other, a young man. Both were dressed in

Brule infantry fatigues with full compliments of weapons, autoflays, Sledge

firearms and a bandolier of grenades.

“You are not a coward,” the older Brule said to the younger. “You

hesitated on the battlefield, found yourself fringing.” Fringing was a term

used by Brule and Apache soldier. It referred to when a soldier purposely

stayed toward the back or the fringes of a battle, not fighting to kill, but to

stay alive. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. I fringed when I first joined

the Brule. The first three battles I was in, I could not throw myself into the

fray. My commander brought me here just as I am doing with you now and he

told me what I am about to tell you. You have to decide what you are willing

to do. You have passed through the Trials and I have seen enough in you over

the last year to know that you are loyal to the AmerIndian Confederacy. You

believe in our dream.”

The old Brule circled and continued, “Now are you willing to serve the

AmerIndian Confederacy or are you willing to die for the AmerIndian

Confederacy? Seven of the eight tribes have no other purpose than to serve

the AmerIndian Confederacy. Say the word and I can have you in any lodge

ship you choose serving the AmerIndian Confederacy in any capacity you
214 AmerIndian 2192

choose. You can live a long and fulfilling life with any of those tribes. Or you

can stay with the Brule. If you stay with us you must remember one thing.

The Brule have one purpose and one purpose only, to kill and die for the

AmerIndian Confederacy. All the Elders, except for Stormseeker, and all the

tribals but the Brule will sugar coat and dance around the truth I am saying

now. We as a people aspire to live one with the land and in order to do that

we must buy it from the White Man who has stolen it. And there is only one

price for land; the price has been the same since the Grandfathers walked

the Earth. That price is blood, in large quantities. I know that someone has to

pay that price if we as a people will ever regain the Homeland, so that is why

I am a Brule.”

The old Brule stopped and placed his hand against the glasteel in front

of him. A body tank rested in the large display case on which his hand was

placed. The body tank gleamed brilliantly in the bright lights imbedded in the

display. The suit was white except for the chest and arms, which were

covered by a golden eagle, a beautiful depiction of Wambli. The suit was a

Grade One Mako, 1.3 meters across at the shoulders and 2.5 meters high. It

was in perfect condition, save one flaw. The one small flaw evident on the

body tank was a hole; perfectly smooth edges and no burn marks, located

near the center of the chest. It was the mark of a concentrated laser, the

weapon that fell the AmerIndian Confederacy's creator.

“Potlatch Weaver was an Apache but he knew what the Brule know, the

price of a Homeland, the price of the life that we want for ourselves and our
 J. Scott Garibay 215

children.” The old warrior took his hand away from the display case. “Do you

want to serve the AmerIndian Confederacy, or do you want to die for the

AmerIndian Confederacy.”

The young man looked at the armor for a long moment. “Commander,

for a long time I looked down on the non-bloods and took pride in my natural

heritage, my AmerIndian ancestors. I guess it's now my turn to determine if I

am a true blood or not.” He placed his hand on the display where the old

Brule had. “I am Brule and I will prove it at Cormorvan.”

The old Brule smiled. “You will, troop. You will.” He placed his hand on

the young man's shoulders. The two turned and walked out the exit at the far

end of the room.

Wovoka and Keokuk looked at each other. Sliver motioned to Wovoka.

Wovoka approached the armor as he had dozens of times before. He knelt

before it, putting his fist over his heart as he had done the day after Potlatch

Weaver's death. Keokuk remained standing. Wovoka did not move to touch

the glass. He followed the tradition of the Apache. Wovoka remained with his

head pointed down to the floor for a moment before rising.

“You were right, Sliver. This did help me in putting what I am about to

do in perspective. I have come here before when a particularly dangerous

mission approached. It level's me.”

216 AmerIndian 2192

Sliver walked forward to the display and finger tapped a command. “I

didn't bring you here to be inspired by the creator's armor,” the display case

hissed and cold air spewed out into the room. “I brought you here to wear it.”
 J. Scott Garibay 217

CHAPTER 16

Jaret walked closely behind Lige as he went down the line of troops

standing side by side in body tanks.

Lige stopped in front of one of the suits. “Trooper, please explain to me

what you have done to your XV-160.” Lige had to look up to meet the

troop's eyes.

“Sir, I recalibrated the suspension settings and used a laser saw to

shave two millimeters and the carrying handle off of my body tank.”

Lige paused. “Why, troop?” he shouted up.

“To maximize fluid movement, sir.”

“I find you in violation of UDA military law SD-21, troop, unauthorized

variation of equipment. You, trooper, are telling me, your commanding

officer, that you know the operation of this body tank better than a military

engineer?”

“Yes, sir.”
218 AmerIndian 2192

Lige pushed past the hulking body tank, walked to the back of the

hangar bay and grabbed three chocks. He walked back to where he stood.

“Show me.” Lige threw the three chocks into the air. Before the chocks were

a meter out of Lige's hand the troop was moving. His knees bent deep and

he sprung forward, the XV-160 whirred and two blasts fired forward

shattering two of the chocks high in the air. The body tank reached the top of

its leap arc. The troop tucked the body tank into a tight ball. The body tank

hit the floor heavy with the squeak and clatter of blastplast on plasteel. The

trooper rolled and in a moment he was on one knee, arms outstretched to

catch the last chock. He stood and handed the chock to Lige. Plastic splinters

from the other two chocks rained down.

“In accordance with military law I sentence you to seven days in

solitary confinement, troop. I now waive your sentence because you have

followed the one true military imperative; achieve success any way

possible.”

Lige was continuing his inspection when a soldier in a navy jumper ran

up from behind. “We have confirmed the location of the AmerIndian

Confederacy’s Steel Circle, sir. It is in the periphery. I took the initiative and

began the navcomps working on correspondence codes immediately, sir.

Calculations will be done in eight to fourteen hours.”

Lige turned, calmed himself. “What is the source of this information?”

 J. Scott Garibay 219

“Rictor, sir. Your AC plant. He was able to send a message when one of

the Elders broke the close on the Steel Circle. One ship was sent out and

returned to the Steel Circle.”

Lige was still for a moment. “Superb. Walk with me to Command

Central.” The officer and Jaret followed Lige. The body tank troop

commander rolled out and ordered his men through the grav shield and into

the vacuum surrounding Black Mariah for drills.

“Have you brought the strategists together?”

The officer answered, “I have, Admiral. They are all at Central now.

Planning has already begun.”

Soon the three entered bustling Central. Lige walked up a short flight

of stairs. Central was located at the center of Black Mariah, like most UDA

ships’ bridges. Central, circular in shape, spanned twenty meters in diameter.

In the center of the room, Lige stood surrounded by strategists and officers

facing him. No chair had been set out for Lige, as he preferred to stand. The

high fifteen meter outer wall was one seamless screen that showed high-

resolution vid from cameras on the ship's exterior.

“Status,” Lige said.

Remigius, Lige's top advisor, stood. He was a thin man with a balding

head and his uniform hung on him like cloth on a skeleton. “We have no

sightings of lodge ships in the last four days so it is a safe assumption all

thirty lodge ships are in attendance at the Steel Circle. From past data we
220 AmerIndian 2192

know the AC uses the Steel Circle nearly as much for socializing as for

military and political planning so the lodge ships should probably be within

four hundred thousand kilometers from the closest planet. They like a view.”

Remigius continued, “We have a few choices. We can set the distance

for a firing exit at six hundred thousand kilometers away from the planet.

There are two primary options. Either they are outside the window or they

are snugged close.” Remigius glanced at the wall screen. “That leads me to

believe they may be parked in orbit. I assume you wish to go in shallow?”

Remigius waited patiently for Lige's answer.

Lige nodded, “Yes, shallow. What is status on the fleet?”

Remigius gestured at Walker, Lige's best correspondence navigator,

who brought up figures on the wall screen as Remigius spoke. “Forty-eight of

sixty-two ships are ready to fire within our window. We can bring back

sixteen more prime ships if you wish to expend the Nagaspheres to fire with

us. Of the forty-eight ships ready for firing thirty-one are in fighting condition,

fifteen have minimum to heavy damages from the Prelgas campaign. Eight of

the sixteen return ships would be in fighting condition, sir.”

Energy from a Kellion Cannon ship’s Nagasphere was abundant but one

firing used one Nagasphere, costing approximately ten thousand UDA

credits. Intergalactic travel was not for the poor. The UDA kept tight strings

on the production, ownership and use of Nagaspheres. However, the

AmerIndian Confederacy had become adept at stealing what they needed.

 J. Scott Garibay 221

“Bring back all eight of the primes immediately.” One of the comp

operators set to work immediately sending the messages to the eight ships.

Intergalactic communication was extremely expensive requiring the same

Nagasphere to send one message as to send one ship. After a ship fired its

Kellion Cannon it then traveled through the correspondence plane created.

Sending communication was the same procedure except a ship fired its

Kellion cannon while the ship was stationary and sent a communication

signal through the correspondence plane.

Remigius continued, “Assuming all 30 lodge ships are there then all

620 of their outrider ships are there as well. Should be approximately 5,100

AC fighters present. We will match that with 940 UDA prime ships and 12,000

fighters. Battle comps give these forecasts. AC lodge ships will fire nine

minutes after detection of our fleet. If our engagement is under two minutes

we should destroy 40 to 90 outrider ships only and we will lose no more than

five prime ships. The AC outrider ships will be used to hold us back. If

engagement is between two and fifteen minutes we will destroy 120 AC

outrider ships and one to six lodge ships against losses of 250 to 400 UDA

prime ships. If engagement is longer than ten minutes, we will destroy eight

to twenty-six lodge ships and 140 to 180 AC outrider ships against losses of

420 to 630 UDA prime ships.”

Lige viewed the wall screens, showing the forecast in stark, hard

numbers. It was a frustrating fact for him that AC ships dealt considerably

more damage than they received in clashes with the UDA fleet. Lige viewed
222 AmerIndian 2192

the UDA losses as acceptable as long as one of the few remaining ships was

his own.

“I have prepared a communications relay to notify four other admirals.

We can swarm them, sir.” Remigius said matter of faclty.

Lige didn't hesitate, “Absolutely not. The AC has used the

incompetence of my peers as an escape route too many times. I will not

have another Grelgas IV incident on my hands. Don't waste the

Nagaspheres.”

Remigius stammered, “Sir, the entire AC fleet is congregated at one

point. It would be irresponsible not to bring in additional forces.”

“You are an intelligent man, Remigius. I believe you understand the

meaning of the term 'absolutely not'.”

“We have not been able to determine the location of a Steel Circle in

five years, sir. If we could call in Ramey and Lenel's fleets it could be enough

to force a surrender, a bloodless victory.”

“Remigius, your ignorance displays for all why you are an advisor and I

am a commander. There has never been a bloodless victory, large or small,

against the AC. They do not surrender. I alone have killed more tribals than

all the other admirals combined because I understand them. I do not under

or overestimate them.”
 J. Scott Garibay 223

Remigius shook. Everyone in the room stared at the advisor. “I am no

fool, you strutting peacock. I will not allow your vanity to cost us victory. As

a forward officer, I demand communication with HQ. You can not refuse me.”

There was a hushed silence. “Only because you have served me as a

superb strategist will I ignore my desire to incarcerate you for blatant

insubordination. However, your service with me is through. You may

communicate with HQ in person. Rogers, please arrange for our smallest

medical prime ship to fire back to HQ with Remigius on board as soon as the

correspondence code back to Earth is calculated.”

Remigius shrunk. In a single moment he realized his grave mistake.

The ship now being arranged for him would never make it to HQ. He had

worked under Lige long enough to know how Lige handled enemies. The ship

would be sent to the farthest corner of the universe where he and its crew

would no doubt starve to death because the Nagaspheres on board would all

be spent.

Remigius' voice shook. “I would prefer to send a communiqué.”

The officers on the bridge knew they were looking at a dead man and

most dutifully turned to watch the wall screens.

“Roger, escort Remigius out. And, oh, is there anyone else who would

like to express their sentiments to HQ?” No one moved or spoke. “And

Remigius, thank you. You truly were a superb strategist. I'm sure those skills

will serve you well wherever the future finds you.”

224 AmerIndian 2192

Lige's smile appeared sincere and showed no malice. “Craven, I will be

doing a walk through of the heavies. We fire as soon as the code is go.”

Lige stepped from the dais and his men whirled into the minutia of

preparing the AC's annihilation.

 J. Scott Garibay 225

CHAPTER 17

“Wear it?” shouted Keokuk. “You are out of your mind! Stormseeker

himself carried Potlatch Weaver's body back in that body tank. Stormseeker

installed that body tank in that display case himself thirteen years ago. No

one has touched it since the founder's death. Celetain herself said she

believes the armor is sacred. Half the tribes will believe it is an insult to the

Grandfathers, let alone the Creator. You are out of your mind!”

Sliver waited patiently for Keokuk's tirade to end before he spoke. “The

fact that he experienced the vision does not give him the right to wear the

Creator's armor. The fact that he is the White Buffalo gives him the right.”

Wovoka interrupted, “I am not the White Buffalo.”

Sliver glanced at the doorway. Two acolytes were now entering. The

huge bay door rolled shut at the wave of one acolytes' hand.

Keokuk frowned. He had never seen that door shut in all the times he

had been to the Brule lodge ship. The armor was on display for all tribals at

all times.
226 AmerIndian 2192

“You are the White Buffalo. Celetain has seen it and she will proclaim

you the White Buffalo tonight.”

Keokuk reeled, “What? The Elder Shaman only proclaims the White

Buffalo after he has won many battles for the AmerIndian Confederacy, only

after every tribal and every Elder is screaming his name to be the White

Buffalo.”

Sliver nodded. “Bull Red River put his stamp of approval on both Tycho

Scalper and Wolver Fuller, but neither of them were truly the White Buffalo. If

they were, we would be standing on grass, not plasteel. Celetain has seen

that Wovoka is the White Buffalo.” Sliver stepped closer to the two of them.

“Celetain Prax is the greatest Shaman in the history of the AmerIndian

Confederacy. She alone has seen the reality that will take us to our

Homeland. There are many tribals that are going to question Celetain Prax

and Wovoka. If this is going to succeed neither of you can be one of those.

Keokuk, I am concerned by your adherence to Evangelical Christianity.

Personally, I am shocked that someone of your intelligence could believe in

such an exclusionist, divisive religion and I would prefer not to deal with you.

However, Celetain has foreseen that Wovoka will need your support. You

must accept what I am saying as truth for now.” Sliver backed away.

Keokuk looked down and then moved in front of Wovoka.

He looked into his brother's eyes and after a moment nodded. “My

Christianity has been one of several wedges between us since father’s death.
 J. Scott Garibay 227

‘Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness.’ I

will be the first to serve you as the White Buffalo. My doubts in

Cybershamanism and the AmerIndian belief systems are the same as they

ever were but my doubts in you are gone, brother.” Keokuk held his arms out

wide and the two embraced.

Sliver walked closer to the display. “Give me a hand.” The three of

them gingerly lifted the body tank out of the case and set it down on the

floor a few meters away. Wovoka looked shaken. Sliver and Keokuk helped

Wovoka don the Creator's armor.

Shoeless Joe, one of several Apache lodge ships at the Steel Circle,

positioned itself to transmit easily to the rest gathered lodge ships. On a

lower deck, Elder Kugan adjusted his three-button suit and spoke evenly. It

was unusual to hear the staid Elder speak. He rarely spoke on anything but

financial matters. “The Elders have given this a great deal of thought and

consideration. We have consulted those who know the concerns involved and

have weighed the various aspects of the plea. We have decided to grant the

request for a clone tribe.”

Shouts rose from every gathering room on every lodge ship.

“Please, hear me out. There are many challenges that this decision will

bring about. Clones fill crucial positions in every tribe and strong

replacements must be trained to fill the void that will be created by the
228 AmerIndian 2192

creation of the Crow, the tribe of clones. The two lodge ships given to the

Crow will come from the Nez Perce and the Apache.”

The speaking request bubble filled immediately. Stormseeker

interrupted.

“I wish for Torquan to speak.” Any Elder could grant a tribal speaking

time.

Torquan stood. “Elder, I have made a fool of myself. I expressed anger

against the Elders when none was warranted. We thank the Elders for their

wisdom and kindness.”

Stormseeker smiled and stood. “I have been a strong opponent of a

clone tribe because of the division I believed it would cause. I have given an

open ear to my Elder brothers and sisters.” Celetain nodded and

Stormseeker continued, “I have realized there are divisions between every

tribe. The Brule are never unarmed and yet not a single Haida holds a

weapon while on their lodge ship. The Diegueño struggle to retain all that is

natural in themselves and their surroundings and the Tsimshian embrace

technology intimately. We have divisions in so many aspects of our lives, and

yet, when it comes to our blood we are one and there are no divisions. I have

come to believe that everyone who has fought, who has worked, who has

sacrificed for the AmerIndian Confederacy is true blood, regardless of their

ancestry.” Stormseeker clapped Wisdom Elder John on the back. His oak
 J. Scott Garibay 229

coloring contrasted with John’s black skin, but their smiles showed the same

joy.

The gathered tribals on all of the lodge ships surged to their feet with

thunderous applause, acknowledging a critical point in AmerIndian

Confederacy history. Stormseeker had long supported separationist

AmerIndian policies. He had encouraged tribe chiefs who purported there

were two classes of AmerIndian Confederacy citizens, true bloods (first in line

for key positions) and non-bloods (helpful and welcome partners of the true

blood). True bloods had long been defined as those who had a quarter or

more of AmerIndian blood. Non-bloods included the Russian, Japanese,

African and Europeans who served the AmerIndian Confederacy. Slowly the

debate over true blood and non-blood service was breaking down to the

position that AmerIndian blood was more than heritage, it was loyalty and

dedication to the principals the AmerIndians espoused.

Stormseeker accepted the applause and deftly called for a close of

discussion on the Clone tribe issue. When the closing comments had been

made, Celetain stood.

The Elder Shaman was silent for a moment and she turned slowly to

look at all the tribals gathered. Her hand stabbed out, stopping at a

Tsimshian. She pointed at him until he stopped looking from side to side. Her

voice was cold.

“Who am I?”
230 AmerIndian 2192

The man's face wrinkled and a moment passed before he said,

“Celetain Prax, Elder Shaman of the AmerIndian Confederacy.”

Her hand remained on him and the man added, “Daughter of

Morningstar Prax.”

“Who am I?” her voice was level.

“Celetain Prax, Elder Shaman of the AmerIndian Confederacy” the man

said again, louder this time.

“This Tsimshian knows who I am. I call forward a respected Infiltrator of

the Apache tribe. He has experienced a true vision and I bring him forward to

show every tribal what he has seen, a clear message from the Grandfathers

to all the tribes.”

Tribals on thirty lodge ships sat up. The tribals knew whatever this

Infiltrator was bringing would be special. Celetain was the interpreter of

visions. Dozens of tribals came to Celetain every year with reports of visions.

She turned away many, declaring their dreams and foretelling as false

visions. She denied messages that were self-serving or that advocated

actions alien to the AmerIndian Confederacy. In the two years Celetain

served as Elder Shaman she had only brought forward two tribals to share a

vision.

The first had been a child who foretold the loss of Sweet Six, a lodge

ship that was disintegrated by the first use of the UDA Hellfire weapon. She

had forewarned the AmerIndian Confederacy that a lodge ship would be lost.
 J. Scott Garibay 231

She urged everyone to brace themselves for the impact of the occurrence.

The vision had steadied the tribals for what proved to be a devastating blow

after the White Earth Massacre.

The second tribal was a Caucasian female recruit from a mining

outpost who predicted victory at Trewellyn. Trewellyn was a plane gate that

fired every hour between the colonies Freedom and Privilege. While the UDA

could not officially disallow the building of a plane gate after Rowan won an

important court battle, it did everything possible to stop the building of the

gate (because Rowan had sheltered its future profits from significant taxes).

The Brule, hired as mercs, won a brutal battle to give time for the gate to be

built. Rowan Cartel successfully rallied the Galaxy Congress to claim the gate

as a unity fixture, which meant no military actions could be taken within five

hundred thousand kilometers except to defend the gate.

The AmerIndian Confederacy had already been paid billions for

eighteen months of merc work on the project and they waived another year's

pay in exchange for the promise of one thousand Nagaspheres per year for

the next thirty years from Rowan. Rowan was still keeping that promise six

years later, although the Elders were concerned with how Wovoka’s recent

reconnaissance mission to Naanac could change that arrangement.

The doors at the end of the hall rolled open and Wovoka appeared. He

walked slowly and the clack of the large blasteel boots rang through the hall.

The hush allowed the sound to echo. On Heidegger, the Zuni sat speechless.

There were cries of outrage heard on Nez Perce lodge ships. A small skirmish
232 AmerIndian 2192

broke out on the Brule lodge ship as Pack Alphas pushed back a throng of

tribals trying to get out of the meeting room and to a shuttle. It was evident

the Brule tribals planned to personally come and pull Wovoka out of the

founder's armor. None of them looked like they would take the time to open

the body tank first. Just lop the head off and pull the rest of Wovoka out in

chunks.

Wovoka stood in the middle of the Elders. All save Celetain were as

stunned as the rest of the tribals. Wovoka looked around and realized

Stormseeker was busy trying to decide which of his weapons to use take out

Wovoka first. Wovoka started quickly.

“I am Wovoka, son of David Stone Rain and member of the Apache. I

come before you to relate a true vision. I experienced it on Naanac when my

pack went there on our last mission. We were sent there to scout a habitable

planet that has been secretly held by Rowan Cartel for six years. I was

descending a mountain, suspended sixteen hundred meters above sea level

completing a geo-survey. I stopped to take a break before I continued. Below

me, not more than five meters, I heard the sound of bone against stone. I

looked down to see a large creature. In many ways it resembled the

arachnids of Earth but it was three meters across. It had six legs, a torso a

meter wide and was covered with fur. I began to draw my weapon when I

realized that the creature was not after me, it was intent on something else.

Wovoka stepped away from Stormseeker. “I watched as it skittered

across the rock face to a nest. It was the nest of a Creose, a Naanacian bird.
 J. Scott Garibay 233

The Creose's nest was built from a bramble of sticks and twigs in the shape

of a dome. The creature approached the nest and smacked at it with its claw.

Instead of breaking, the nest flexed. The creature clawed again and again at

the nest and each time the nest flexed with the blow. The creature became

angry and climbed up until it nearly sat on top of the nest. It reared and I

watched as it prepared to crush the nest with all of its mass. With speed and

accuracy the Creose ducked its head through a small hole in the nest. With

it's beak the Creose plucked an eye out of the creature's skull. Three of the

creatures six legs lost hold of the mountain. It fell, battering itself against the

rock face of the mountain. Several of its legs snapped off. That is what I

saw.”

Celetain stared at the crowd challenging anyone to interrupt her

presentation. She pointed at a tribal in the crowd again, “What is my role?”

The young girl she pointed to answered in a bold voice, “You are the

Elder Shaman, Guide for the AmerIndian Confederacy in all spiritual matters.

You interpret visions.”

Celetain made the girl repeat the words and she looked directly at

Stormseeker (furious now). “Then interpret I will. Wovoka and Pack Jade

Dagger were sent to Naanac with a tight mission window. This was not due to

the normal level of urgency attached to most AmerIndian Confederacy

military ventures. The Free Mantle, a two-kilometer layer of free-floating

asteroids, surrounds planet Naanac. The nest in Wovoka’s vision represents

the asteroid field, the Creose represents the AmerIndian Confederacy and
234 AmerIndian 2192

the UDA is the creature. On White Earth we struggled in vain, left blood on

fields that would never be our Homeland. Naanac is the Homeland. The

Homeland we will take and the Homeland we will keep. It is the Homeland

foretold of in Okala’s Prophecies. Of this, I am certain.

“White Earth was to serve as a stepping-stone to reclaiming our

forefather’s Homeland, the North American continent on Earth. That land is

not and will never be the Homeland of AmerIndians. Naanac is our

Homeland. I know what I say is shocking and what I propose will mean

massive change for the AmerIndian Confederacy. I speak now on the part of

the Grandfathers. Today before every tribal I declare Wovoka, White Buffalo.

He is the fulfillment of Okala’s Prophecies and will lead to possession of our

Homeland within three days.”

Every tribal was silenced.

Stormseeker exploded, “You can not declare this man the White

Buffalo. The prophecy states that the White Buffalo will be declared as the

tribes are in battle.”

Celetain stepped forward and put her hands on Stormseeker's

gleaming armor. “You are right. Wovoka is declared the White Buffalo now

because we are in battle.”

The words fell from her lips as klaxons began to wail. “Fleet detection.

Fleet Detection,” the comp convoy server warned. “Engagement in six

minutes.”
 J. Scott Garibay 235

Lige screamed, “Holy Baal, guaranteed three minutes of battle! Lets

make it count. Eisenhower and Powell, you are to adjust by six degrees,

swing wide for flanking.”

Remigius had been right. The Steel Circle sat just 220,000 kilometers

outside the effecting distance of the water planet. Lige longed for more time

than he was about to get but it was enough to kill at least a few lodge ships,

maybe more. That alone was reason to rejoice.

“Reagan, Hoover and Melbourne, triangulate for Hellfire at coordinates

31449.”

The communications officer barked without looking up from the wall

screen. “Deflector ships are moving into position now.”

“Triangulate for Hellfire.” Lige gave the order without emotion.

“Paxton, Grellion and Brown, triangulate for Hellfire at coordinates 99742.

Smith, Bates and Jomorian triangulate for hellfire at coordinates 87246.”

The voice of Captain Telbor carried over the room from Paxton,

“Coordinates are in conflict, repeat, coordinates are in conflict.”

“Execute command, Paxton. Execute command,” Lige stated firmly.

The captain could be heard laughing. “Repeat, coordinates are in

conflict.”

“First sergeant of Paxton on Screen,” Lige said. A view of the Paxton

bridge appeared on a third of wall screen.

236 AmerIndian 2192

“First sergeant, activate your sidearm and execute Captain Telbor

immediately.”

A moment of quiet confusion passed and then the first sergeant's

sidearm was out and Telbor was looking into his eyes. It had happened

quickly and Telbor looked as though he didn't believe what he was seeing.

Suddenly Telbor’s face twisted and he fumbled at his holster. When he pulled

the strap off his own sidearm the first sergeant squeezed and his gun

reported.

Telbor's face melted into the five-centimeter hole bored through his

head. His body slumped to the floor. The first sergeant turned reluctantly to

the camera drone.

Lige said, “Thank you, First Sergeant. Execute command.” None of the

ships Lige had commanded had diverted course on the initial order. All nine

prime ships smoothly flowed into ordered coordinates now. The ships were

lined up in triangular sets, each set following ten kilometers after the other.
 J. Scott Garibay 237

CHAPTER 18

The tribals overcame their shock quickly. Tribals on every lodge ship

burst into motion exiting the gathering halls. Tribals headed toward their

specific battle stations.

Thin gaps circled the platform Wovoka was standing on. Without

hesitation, the Elders stepped forward, circling around him. Wovoka saw

Keokuk a few meters away and motioned him forward. Keokuk followed onto

the platform. John gave a command and the platform began to descend.

Wovoka looked and realized Cavaho and Wolf Plume would be left

behind. A mellow electronic bink rang out as the platform dropped through

the corresponding hole in the deck floor below. The platform wobbled slightly

as Cavaho dropped from four meters above onto the falling platform. He bent

at the knees with the impact, steadying himself between Kugan and Morgan

Weaver. He stood twenty centimeters from the edge of the platform and

stared ahead nonchalantly. The Elders stared at him.

238 AmerIndian 2192

Nineteen decks passed and the platform stopped. The Elders dispersed

to five command stations spaced throughout the bridge. Dozens of tribals

monitoring various aspects of the impending battle occupied the bridge.

Wovoka, Keokuk and Cavaho remained on the platform in the middle of the

bridge.

Stormseeker finger tapped. “Tally on fighter scramble.”

A thin, busy tribal answered. “Eighteen percent, another eighty

seconds before full pattern deployment.”

Wovoka looked at Keokuk. “What am I doing here?”

Keokuk looked around. “If you are White Buffalo you are supposed to

be commanding this.”

“I don't know how to command a fleet battle.”

Keokuk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Despite the fact that Wovoka was

in the center of the room, no one was paying any attention to him.

“Fighter scramble complete,” the tactical tribal said. “Wave One

release on Ten, mark now.”

Keokuk looked at Wovoka. “Have them cancel that order. Belay the

fighter release. Have the Gator dump the correspondence code for all lodge

ships and go to Delta Star, delay twelve.” Keokuk finger tapped. “Your comp

set is now on command band. Everyone's listening.”

 J. Scott Garibay 239

Wovoka hesitated and then commanded, “Belay fighter release. Gator,

dump the correspondence code for all lodge ships and go to Delta Star, delay

twelve.” Wovoka echoed Keokuk's words.

The bustle of activity on the bridge stopped and all eyes turned to

Wovoka.

Stormseeker was out of his chair and walking fast across the bridge

toward Wovoka. “That's enough of this drek, soldier. We have seconds to

move hundreds of thousands of tribals. Do not test proper command. Tactical

tribals, execute my orders. Now, I am going to personally pry your ass out of

that sacred armor.”

Stormseeker grabbed at Wovoka's body tank. Wovoka stood

motionless. He had been unable to raise a hand to Stormseeker, his

commander since he was twelve. In a flash of movement Cavaho was at

Wovoka's side. He grabbed Stormseeker's hand and in what looked like a

dance move, ducked, pivoted and twisted. When it was done, Stormseeker

was kneeling in front of Cavaho with his arm twisted a centimeter away from

the snap of bone.

Celetain stood. “Elder Stormseeker is right. We have seconds to move

four hundred thousand tribals; there is no time to test proper command.

Execute the commands of the White Buffalo.”

240 AmerIndian 2192

Over the comp sets the main tactical tribal’s voice was clear. “Fighters

sit tight. Gator, dump the correspondence code for all lodge ships and go to

Delta Star, delay twelve.”

Wovoka looked down at Stormseeker.

“Yes,” Stormseeker said plainly.

Cavaho released the Elder Warrior and helped him to his feet.

Stormseeker glared. No one on the bridge moved.

“We are going to have to shut down life support temporarily. The guns

will have to be as hot as possible if there is going to be engagement, White

Buffalo.” Stormseeker broke the silence.

Wovoka smiled. “All tribals strap on one hour masks. Lodge ships go

dry directly after we pass through the correspondence planes.”

The bridge became a flurry of activity as each pack member put into

action the procedures they had practiced a hundred times, orchestrating the

movement of a well-oiled war machine. Each knew exactly what Wovoka had

ordered and what it would mean. The tribals steeled themselves to weather

the approaching storm.

The UDA Situation Officer reported. “Hellfire, triple set, go in 210

seconds. Flanking ships in position. Slow movement from all lodge ships

consistent with preparation for a quick correspondence jump. AC outrider

 J. Scott Garibay 241

ships are staying close, no interference being run. Fighters are being held

in.”

Lige stepped back, “They want to minimize damages. Outrider ships

are being held close to run as blockers for lodge ships. Remove all outrider

ships as targets from the firing solutions, target lodge ships only.”

It was a gamble. Lige was ordering all of his comp operators to adjust

the weapon firing comps so they would not acknowledge any outrider ship or

fighter as a target or an aggressor. Normally, the weapons firing comps

constantly tracked all targets in range and fed information to the ship's

servers to be ready to take fire on any target in range at any instant. Now,

following Lige's orders, all of the comp's targeting power would be put on the

lodge ships. Unless a UDA ship’s gun was manually overridden not a single

AmerIndian Confederacy outrider ship or fighter would be fired on by any of

Lige's ships.

The entire AmerIndian Confederacy fleet was crawling forward at 10

K.P.H. toward the UDA fleet. Lige understood this tactic. The slow pace

ensured the ships were moving and it would only take a bump of speed to

send them through the correspondence planes their comps were now

calculating. Lige's ships were moving toward the Confederacy convoy in

order to use their forward guns and not expose a flank. The lodge ships were

now spreading out to a ten-kilometer span.

242 AmerIndian 2192

The Hellfire system sent raw waves of energy from three cooperating

ships to a collector-amplifier spaced an equal distance from each of the three

ships. After 180 seconds, a wave of energy, 80 kilometers in diameter and a

kilometer long, was released. The Hellfire energy wave could bore a hole

through Earth's moon. It would turn a lodge ship into fine dust.

“Do we have a mark on the Brule lodge ship?” Lige asked.

“Negative, Admiral, target is random, twenty seconds to release.”

Unlike the inside of the lodge ships, which clearly identified the

occupying tribe, all AmerIndian Confederacy lodge ship exteriors were

painted matt black to confuse the enemy as to which lodge ship housed

which tribe. The AmerIndian Confederacy tactical tribals knew that Hellfire

could be a deadly weapon not only because of the sheer number of tribals

that could be swept away instantly, three Confederacy tribes had only one

lodge ship. A hit on the singular Brule, Haida or Zuni lodge ship could destroy

ninety percent of the tribe (only crossworkers on other lodge ships surviving).

If the majority of one tribe were wiped out it would leave the AmerIndian

Confederacy severely crippled when that tribe’s specialization was lost.

Lige frowned. He had his best comp officers searching for any clue in

movement, placement of lights on the lodge ships' hulls, anything to discern

lodge ships belonging to single lodge ship tribes.

 J. Scott Garibay 243

One of his comp officers reported back, “Hellfire Release is ready

Admiral. But there is no confirmation on the single tribe lodge ships. New

target?”

“No. Keep primed. Be ready to fire on my mark.”

The five Elders watched the emerging battle ground on their comp

sets. A tactical tribal barked. “Sector nine grid.”

One section of the comp set view expanded and showed three small

points of light. With finger taps the tactical tribal increased the magnification

until the ships could be seen clearly.

“Hellfire formation. Three groups all focused on the convoy at ten klick

intervals. Only one set of our deflector ships is out.”

Wovoka's instinct was to order another set of deflector ship out.

Keokuk stepped close to Wovoka. “Order all the single tribe lodge ships

into single file line. Heidegger, Cold Pyre and Talisman. Put them all in one

line facing the UDA ships. Have the deflector ships tighten their arc and

prepare to send back the beam straight as an arrow right down all three

Hellfire sets. The trajectory is where the three sets of UDA Hellfire ships line

up.”

Wovoka's instincts screamed. He could be sending thousands of tribals

to their deaths. He also knew from his service as an Infiltrator that hesitation

could be more deadly in combat than a critical mistake. Wovoka shouted the
244 AmerIndian 2192

order. He was amazed. No one questioned and the lodge ships began to line

up immediately. The five deflector ship set could now be seen in position.

Wovoka asked Keokuk, “Patch me through to the Alpha of that deflector

ship group.” The link was made in seconds. “Lightbringer, the UDA Hellfire

ship sets are lined up like dominoes. Can you send the Hellfire beam straight

back down the pipe.”

Lightbringer, the deflector ship captain replied, “Tighter I get the grid

the more control I have on where the beam is sent back. Keeping my pack

safe I say I have a fifty/fifty chance of sending the Hellfire beam right back

down the pipe… White Buffalo.”

There had been a distinct delay but Wovoka noticed the title had been

added nonetheless. Keokuk raised a finger. “Command maximum effort, tell

him to send the beam back down the pipe without fail.”

Wovoka shook his head. “Do your best, Lightbringer.”

“Admiral Lige, By size and sensor data most likely all three of those

ships are single tribe targets. It's Haida, Brule and Zuni. Current Brule target

is locked.”

“Pull all Hellfire sets around to resolve for the single line target.”

The UDA situation officer hesitated, “The trajectory of the three Hellfire

sets gives the deflector ship a definite line. Possibility of a direct aim back is

sixty-two percent.”
 J. Scott Garibay 245

“Thank you comp officer. Pull all Hellfire sets around to resolve for the

single line target.”

The UDA situation officer gave the order. “Single line firing solution at

120 seconds.”

Wovoka stood quiet. It was all in the hands of the deflector ships now.

Stormseeker looked at Wovoka.

“White Buffalo, those Hellfire sets can break away at any second. Can

we send predator torps their way?”

Keokuk whispered, “No.”

Wovoka commanded again. “Hold line. All ships, hold line.”

Lige licked his lips, “On my mark, group one. Fire.”

Wovoka watched as the crackle of energy arced from each Hellfire ship

toward the collector magnifier. “Ignition, hold line,” Wovoka shouted. “Hold

line.”

The deflector ships adjusted and the cable between the ships pulled

taught. A huge reflective sheet of molecule thin gold exploded taut between

the ships.
246 AmerIndian 2192

The Hellfire collector from the first Hellfire ship set popped, a streak of

blue fire blasted forward growing to its eight-kilometer diameter. The blast

hit the sheet square. For an instant it appeared the blast was still, until it

folded on itself and shot back from the sheet. Like an arrow splitting another

arrow, the beam ate all nine Hellfire ships. The sheet of gold blazed on both

sides and all five deflector ships were caught in the terrible heat. The ships

melted, transforming instantly into hunks of sulfurous metal.

A roar of celebration rose on AmerIndian Confederacy bridge.

Wovoka barked, “We have five AmerIndian Confederacy ships

destroyed. Everyone back to station immediately.”

The bridge snapped back to efficiency.

“Nine Goliath class UDA prime ships destroyed. Terminal engagement

in three minutes, ten seconds. Correspondence plane go time five minutes

twenty-five seconds…” A brilliant flash on comp sets interrupted the tactical

tribal’s words.

Wovoka gaped. One of Lige's fleet ships was firing into Lige’s command

ship, Black Mariah. Bright straight flashes Wovoka recognized as Magog

heavy lasers blasted into the command ship, hitting it dead center. The

attacking UDA ship was boring a hole to the Lige’s bridge at the center.

Keokuk was already speaking. “Launch a wave of trackers. They are

going to do a correspondence jump.”

 J. Scott Garibay 247

Wovoka barked again, “It isn't a fire works display, tribals. Launch a

battery of trackers.”

Black Mariah's bridge rocked with the force of the Magog heavy lasers.

Havoc reigned. Four UDA officers simultaneously sent messages over the

communications link before the senior officer hit his override.

“Twenty-six decks holed, eighteen percent power loss, firing comp

damage. Navcomp untouched.”

Lige stood still. His rage bubbled up as he struggled to keep control.

The fate of his fleet rested in his ability to react rationally. The AmerIndian

Confederacy had dealt him a knockout blow. This battle was over. Mutiny was

blooming and his only hope was to pick up the pieces and rally.

Lige patched himself into every ship's main communications link. “Gold

fleet, this is Admiral Lige. I am now declaring emergency procedure Beta Chi.

Every ship's captain is temporarily stripped of authority. First officer, please

accept the captain's firearm. All ships are ordered to strip all comp

processing from all non-essential functions including firing solutions and

direct primary shields at the AmerIndian Confederacy. We are in full retreat.

Ships are commanded not to fire on Hoover. Hoover, I advise you stop firing

now and start running. You are going to need every centimeter of distance

you can put between you and me. I promise I will see every man on Hoover

dead before next Veteran's day.”

248 AmerIndian 2192

Jaret stepped onto the dais. “What can I do, sir?”

Lige exhaled. “Don't become an Admiral.”

Wovoka tried as he could to shout the celebrations down, to get people

back to their stations but tribals were standing on chairs, spinning, dancing

and rejoicing as over nine hundred UDA prime ships retreated.

Wovoka stopped shouting and looked at Keokuk. His brother wore a

pleased, guilty smile. “The Steel Circle has to be moved and I can not think

of a destination. The second those UDA ships fire their Kellion Cannons and

jump the battle is done and the Elders are calling the shots again.”

Wovoka looked around. All across the bridge tribals were celebrating. In

front of Elder Kugan's podium three tribals were lined up. A pretty tribal

aimed her finger at them and the three fell down like dominoes. Even Morgan

Weaver laughed hysterically.

Wovoka gave everyone another thirty seconds and then barked an

order the same way he did when his three Infiltrators were following him

through the obstacle course on Deck 176. “On line.” The blood had already

started to flow and it could be a long hard time before it stopped. “Calculate

correspondence data to Naanac with every lodge and outrider ships'

navcomp. Release Silhouette and twenty other outrider ships in pursuit of

the renegade UDA prime ship. Mission is recruitment of the men who

attacked Lige.”
 J. Scott Garibay 249

Packs hustled to get back to their seats and work resumed. The next

few minutes were spent in unnecessary attempts to tweak the lodge ships

defenses in case the UDA ships turned. They did not. Twenty seconds before

the UDA prime ships fired their correspondence planes the trackers carved

into the UDA prime ships.

The second the UDA ships winked out of view Stormseeker was out of

his chair and heading back to Wovoka. “Battle's over, boy, and that means

you are back to being nothing more than a soldier. And that's why I can

now,” Stormseeker stopped just inside striking distance, “do this.”

Stormseeker embraced Wovoka. “Now that was a ‘to the bottom of the mag

whuppin'. We have a two-hour window at least. The Elder Council obviously

has to meet. I want you and your pack out of sight during that time.”

Stormseeker turned from Wovoka and caught sight of Cavaho. “You like

beatin' old dogs, pup?” There was no smile in Stormseeker's voice.

Cavaho cocked his head and pointed right at his chin. Stormseeker's

fist rocketed out and Cavaho sprawled across the floor. He rose with blood

spilling out of his mouth. No smile, no expression. He cocked his chin in the

other direction and pointed again. Stormseeker shook his head and clapped

his hand on Cavaho's shoulder. “Good soldier.” Stormseeker turned and

headed to where the other Elders were exiting the room.

250 AmerIndian 2192

Sliver, Celetain Prax's aid, approached Keokuk, Wovoka and Cavaho.

“This way.” Sliver led them out opposite the exit used by the Elders. The

crash doors rolled open and a throng of tribals poured in from the hall. Sliver

wasted no time and directed Keokuk, Wovoka and Cavaho back through

another door. The tactical tribals held back the crowd.

Keokuk marveled. He hadn't seen tribals react like this since the

AmerIndian Confederacy hosted Concrete Reams, a rock group from the

Carina Local Cluster. In a few moments Sliver led the three into a large

lounging room. It was obviously the design work of an over-ambitious

Diegueño. Beautiful, large couches formed a square near the center of the

room. The room was designed to look like an eighteenth century log cabin.

Keokuk wanted to flop onto the plush leather couch but he nixed the

urge and helped Cavaho get Wovoka out of the Founder's armor. The armor

cracked open like a shell and Wovoka stepped out. He shook his limbs to get

rid of the rigid tension in his shoulders and thighs. Wovoka fell back onto the

couch and put his hands over his eyes. Keokuk looked over at Cavaho who

had the body tank at the far end of the couch. Cavaho rubbed his jaw in

obvious pain and Keokuk found a new level of respect for Stormseeker. Sliver

brought each of them a large tumbler of sparkling water. Keokuk drank and

for a moment enjoyed the comfortable quiet that surrounded them.

 J. Scott Garibay 251

CHAPTER 19

With speed and precision Jaret lunged, sliced and parried. Jaret beat

the man steadily back until his back was against the wall and he could

retreat no farther. His opponent threw down his sword and the bamboo

clattered on the plasteel floor.

Jaret pulled off his Kendo mask. His opponent did the same. The soldier

was a well-built Caucasian and looked similar to Jaret, same haircut, same

gait. Teddy Dewayne hailed from the Kentucky Dewaynes, still the most

respected family in horse racing. The purebreds they raised were highly

prized and sought after on the colonies and outposts the UDA elite favored.

Teddy, a blue blood whose family sent him into military service to

launch a career in intergalactic politics, served Lige as a body tank troop

officer. Jaret, the son of a horse groomer employed by the Dewaynes, had

enlisted with Teddy and risen into the officers program by merit. Jaret

outshone Teddy in every way, even as Teddy's parents eased the path for

their son from thousands of galaxies away on Earth. Teddy was a miserable
252 AmerIndian 2192

failure as an officer. Jaret, on the other hand, was Lige's personal assistant

and already a minor celebrity due to coverage of the three assassination

attempts on Lige that he had personally foiled. His career opportunities were

limitless and yet Lige was already exerting subtle pressure for Jaret to stay

with him when his current tour of duty was done. Soft pressure, as Lige

called it, incentives and promises, rather than threats.

Despite the differences between the two young men's military paths

they were as close friends now as when they had spent summers riding

horses around Churchill Downs. Jaret peeled himself out of the heavy

awkward Kendo uniform while Teddy did the same. UDA troopers came in to

take the Kendo suits away for cleaning and the two changed.

“Word is the fleet is heading toward Chester Outpost Delta Six.” Teddy

stated. “You know what that means… Something on your mind, hoss?”

Jaret looked up. “No, no. Just, uh, getting anxious about yearly recap. I

don't know what to decide.”

Teddy shook his head vigorously. “What's it matter. You're the golden

boy, any way it goes, hoss. Make a fortune in the private sector as a

bodyguard or maybe see if they were serious about those offers out of Little

Hollywood.”

Jaret tightened a string on his grey jumpsuit. He felt tired and

confused. This frustrated him, considering this would probably be his only
 J. Scott Garibay 253

down time this week. “I'll catch you at Torrie's tonight.” Jaret headed out into

the hall alone.

The young officer told himself he was wandering, but soon admitted he

was simply taking the long route to the brig. Black Mariah held the brig for all

of Lige's fleet.

Jaret walked into the guard station at the brig. His off-duty jumpsuit

showed muted versions of officer stripes. As soon as the brig commander

realized who Jaret was, he snapped to attention.

“First Officer Tucker, how may we assist you, sir?”

“Hiscomer 675624. I want all lock down codes.”

The words were barely out of Jaret's mouth before the soldier behind

the brig commander stood. Jaret handed him his gauntlet comp and all codes

where downloaded into it when it was handed back. Jaret walked down the

hall past dozens of tubes. The tubes were capable of supporting a person in

various states depending on the person's sentence. The tubes could support

a person in real time (meaning the unconscious prisoner’s body aged at a

rate of one day for every one day that passed). That rate could be slowed to

as much as ten to one. Most prisoners on UDA ships were kept in these sleep

chambers, aging at a rate of one day for every ten that passed.

Traditional cells, instead of tubular sleep chambers, were used for

prisoners the UDA wished to observe. Jaret stopped in front of one of the

cells and waved his gauntlet comp in front of the door. “Voice authorization,
254 AmerIndian 2192

Jaret Tucker. Authorization Delta 764909. Lock all recorded material and allow

access only to my voice speaking the following keyword - ‘Ranger’.” As was

standard in UDA brigs, the video and audio recording of the cell could not be

turned off or altered without high access. The cell door rolled back.

The interior of the cell was simple, a three-meter square room with a

ledge where a prisoner could sit or sleep. The floor provided a low blue

illumination. The room contained no objects other than its inhabitants and a

minimal toilet. The grid on the exterior of the cell showed the exact position

of the prisoner within the cell. Jaret entered the cell and the door closed.

Alexa Sullivan sat neatly in front of him. She was thin, thinner than

Jaret liked. Her nose was sharp and her lips were as thin as the rest of her.

She met his gaze and remained silent. Jaret stood, not knowing what to say.

There was no good reason for him to be here. He waited for another moment

to see if she would say something. He could react then. Reacting was his

strength, waiting for an opponent to move and then violating that change by

making the most of its inherent imperfection.

“I need to know how long you were with the AmerIndian Confederacy.”

A question played across Alexa's face and she said plainly, “No, you

don't.”

Jaret's heart raced. She was right. He already knew the answer to the

question, and she knew that. He was here for no other reason than to be
 J. Scott Garibay 255

close to her. She was beautiful. He tried not to focus on that while he

searched for an answer.

“Who is the Alpha Defense coordinator for the Apache tribe?”

Alexa stood and walked one step toward him. “What are you here for?”

Jaret could not help but notice the lines of her figure. Her legs were

long, her torso sleek. It was obvious that he had failed miserably in trying to

pretend he was here to interrogate her.

“I want… I came to see you.”

She took a few steps around him. Her disapproval was apparent and it

surprised him. He was not used to any woman frowning at him and the fact

that she was his prisoner didn't make him any more comfortable with it.

Angry, he stepped closer to her.

“I do have questions and you will answer them. Why did you join the

AmerIndian Confederacy?”

She did not back away. “I've already answered that question for your

master.”

“You joined to anger your father? I know a lie when I hear one.”

“I'll answer your questions and you will answer mine,” Alexa said with

confidence.

“What makes you think you can demand anything of me? I can have

you killed with a word,” Jaret spat.

256 AmerIndian 2192

“You could, but you won't. You could have drugged me for any answers

you needed. Like you said, you are here to see me.” She sat. “My father

keeps a house in Key West Florida. Huge, beautiful. Douglas was a

groundskeeper there. I fell in love with him after only two weeks. But he

shunned me and would not return my advances. Over a few more weeks we

got to the point where we talked for at least an hour every day.

“It became obvious to me that he loved me and soon he told me he

was a Zuni field agent gathering information on my father. I could have

turned him in. Eventually, he told me he loved me but he wanted me to join

the AmerIndian Confederacy, for myself, so I could see people who valued

life and harmony. I almost never saw my father or mother. I wasn't very

happy. I asked Douglas if we could be together if I joined the AmerIndian

Confederacy and he said no. He said we could never be together because I

needed the AmerIndian Confederacy and the AmerIndian Confederacy

needed me. Douglas believed if we were involved before I joined the

AmerIndian Confederacy then I would never join and if we were involved

after I joined then I wouldn't know if I were staying for him or the AmerIndian

Confederacy. I was amazed at his sacrifice. No one surrounding me at the

time was true to any principles.

“So I joined the AmerIndian Confederacy. I was shocked at what I saw.

They are a family community. They work together and live with the fact that

one person's actions, decisions, and feelings affect the whole community.

One month into life with the AmerIndian Confederacy and I felt at home. I
 J. Scott Garibay 257

have never felt such love from so many people. It did not make me miss

Douglas any less though.”

Alexa stopped and turned away, tears streaming down her face. Jaret

felt that overpowering, uncomfortable feeling that descends on men when a

beautiful woman cries. He thought of going to her, holding her. Instead he

said, “They are killers. They have made war a business. Their share-and-

share-alike love commune is funded by blood money.”

Alexa shook her head, “They aren't getting rich. They are preparing to

take back the one thing they have been denied for seven hundred years, a

Homeland. This time of merc work won't go on for more than another

decade.”

“You can kill a lot of people in a decade.”

Alexa laughed. “What do you care about lives? Lige is an intergalactic

butcher. I can't believe I am defending the actions of the AmerIndian

Confederacy to the right hand of DeSade himself.” She waited, watching

him. “Oh, nothing to say. No words in defense of the monster. You are silent

because nothing can be said to justify the things he has done.”

Jaret did not look away but it was some time before he spoke. “Lige is a

necessary evil. Only men like him keep the wheels turning. The balance

between the Capitalists and the Universalists and the Anarchists is tenuous.

In an intergalactic society, certain stabilizing actions have to be taken at

critical points. Lige can do that. Level the field whenever it is needed. His
258 AmerIndian 2192

methods are ugly, but he gets things done. You have to understand that even

the wrong action is better in most cases than inaction. Lige has taken many

lives in battle but his work has saved more lives. He alone averted an

intergalactic civil war in '62.”

“The reason that civil war nearly occurred was because the UDA is

corrupted to the core. It has to fall if there is going to be a better future.”

There was silence.

“Are they cloning me?”

The question hit Jaret like a blow; it framed exactly how deep he was.

“Yes.”

“Lige is a demon. He serves no one but himself and you should know

that he won't hesitate to sacrifice you when it becomes necessary.”

“Sacrifice me? I would die for him now.”

Alexa shook her head. “Why?”

“Lige made me what I am. He knows me and makes me stronger. With

him I serve a higher purpose. And while the ride is hard with him, it is always

a surprise. There is no limit to his potential, to what he can accomplish.”

“When will my clone be finished?”

“It is already viable.”

Alexa shook her head. “Sad part is there is no chance that anyone I

knew on Earth, including my parents, will know the difference.”

 J. Scott Garibay 259

Jaret pulled something out of his pocket. He handed her a candy bar.

She laughed and Jaret's broad smile came despite his efforts to remain aloof.

“Thank you. Next time bring one for you.”

Alexa turned. It was clear to Jaret that Alexa had just told him to leave.

He wondered why he did it when it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Kugan’s tone indicated anger, an emotion rarely present in the staid

Elder. “Stormseeker is right. You blind-sided all of us. You could have

discussed this and maybe now we could be working from an informed

position instead of winging it. We have an hour to decide if we want to

invade the ninth habitable planet ever discovered, Naanac?”

The Elders were gathered in the ship's council meeting room. Celetain

sat in a large mahogany chair. A table made of the same mahogany sat in

front of them. Stars could be seen out of the glasteel hull sections. “We just

thrashed Lige because he didn't see us coming. Naanac is our Homeland. I

have seen this in dreams and Sliver’s abyssal calculations confirm it. Naanac

has a natural defense. It is a natural fortress. Stormseeker, you have to see

the military advantages of Naanac over White Earth.”

“Oh, no question, it is secure. We have a ten fold better chance of

taking Naanac than White Earth. In fact, I don't think we'll have to fight the

Rowan Cartel or the UDA at all for the planet. They'll give it to us for a few

creds and a corn dog. The entire planet is covered with swamps. That’s what
260 AmerIndian 2192

the United States of America gave us in the nineteenth century, and now we

go back to it? Homeland? That planet is swampland. Nothing more.”

Celetain rallied, “There you are wrong. Naanac is like no other world. It

is a treasure trove. We just have to know where and how to find its treasures.

If any people can make Naanac a home it is us.”

Kugan stood. “We have been preparing for eight years to take White

Earth. You think one hour of prep gives us enough time to equal the progress

we have made toward the true Homeland?”

“You can spend one hundred years preparing to take ‘the true

Homeland’ and you still won't be successful. It doesn't matter how prepared

you are, how many lodge ships you have or how well our soldiers are trained.

The Grandfathers are telling us that one path leads to ruin and one path

leads to a Homeland, to Naanac. We cannot ignore their revelations.”

Morgan Weaver interjected, “Celetain, you are being needlessly

dramatic. Let's stop for a minute. We are pressed for time so lets focus on

the facts before us. If we commit to an invasion of Naanac then we show our

hand. All the work we have done to take White Earth in '94 could be lost.

Stormseeker, in as few words as possible what is the situation on the White

Earth invasion?”

Stormseeker took a long draft from his mug. “Our soldiers perform

currently two to three times more efficiently than UDA forces. Support on

UDA colonies is five times greater than at the time of the White Earth
 J. Scott Garibay 261

Massacre. The lodge ships are performing at between eighty-five and ninety-

five percent of their potential and there can be no question that we have

superior comp power.”

This last point had been a major advantage for the AmerIndian

Confederacy over the last decade. UDA tech officers were trained in

traditional programming languages and most of their education was

conventional. Many UDA systems were still paper-based. AmerIndian

Confederacy coding training started hands on at age six. Handwriting, a

useless skill in a paperless environment, had never been taught in the

AmerIndian Confederacy. Tsimshian code crafters learned languages unheard

of in the UDA and their unusual approach of apprenticeship made

AmerIndian Confederacy programmers far more versatile, flat out superior.

Stormseeker massaged his fist before continuing, “But there was never

a question that taking White Earth would be an uphill battle. I don't think any

of the tribes will be willing to wage the war that will be necessary to take

White Earth.”

A disgusted look came across Stormseeker's face as he mentioned the

point of contention among the councils and the tribes. Stormseeker believed

it would be necessary to wage guerrilla warfare. Stormseeker called for

attacks on major public centers, grav-rail stations, movie theaters and sports

arenas. These attacks would cause thousands of public deaths. Stormseeker

wanted to continue to pepper these deaths over dozens of outpost, all of the
262 AmerIndian 2192

colonies and Earth, causing a fear in the UDA public that their government

could not protect them.

Celetain had been furious when she found out Stormseeker had

created scenarios for White Earth that had been modeled after John

O'Conner's freedom campaigns of 2032. No question the IRA leader's tactic

had won Ireland back from the British. But it was considered by most

historians to be one of the cruelest wars ever waged. O'Conner had led an

orchestrated butchering of over seven thousand British in London before the

King had urged Parliament to release all holds on Ireland. Ireland viewed

O'Conner as a national hero. The rest of the world saw the IRA leader as a

terrorist.

Stormseeker continued, “Current projections see us with a twenty-

seven percent chance of victory considering a fifty-six percent loss of our

current population and forty-two percent equipment loss.”

Celetain was quick. “I guarantee that any simulation run will triple

those chances with a quarter of the losses for an attempt to take Naanac

instead of White Earth.”

Weaver perked up. “That's an easy thing to guarantee now, knowing

an accurate simulation would take a week to run.”

Celetain did not look at Weaver. No love was lost between the two.

None of the Elders respected Weaver. He was simply a leverage piece, a slice

of the voting pie to be persuaded whenever necessary.

 J. Scott Garibay 263

John spoke evenly. “We have an hour to commit to this idea and

mobilize the fleet. We all know that Lige is bound to be back to this location

or to send other UDA ships soon.”

Stormseeker sat forward. “Then the answer is simple. This is all

nonsense. No planning has been done. And moving all the necessary

equipment would mean unnecessary death for our men. I will not allow that.”

Weaver agreed. “An invasion is not a spontaneous activity. We would

be walking into a death trap.”

John began to speak but was interrupted by a raised hand from

Celetain. “Planning has been done. All the material necessary to construct a

chunnel through the Free Mantle is aboard lodge ships Steam Horse and Six

Gun.”

Stormseeker looked down. “You have made war plans without

consulting me. How can you possibly defend yourself against the charge of

holding secrets? How can you say you have fulfilled your duties in an open

and honest manner? Shall I begin research on a new healing ritual?”

For the first time Celetain did not feel as confident as she appeared. “I

am sorry, Stormseeker. I have not been open or honest. I have known about

Naanac for nearly a year. I truly felt the course I was taking was the best for

the AmerIndian Confederacy. I have served with you long enough to know

surprise is the greatest advantage a military leader can have. And I am

offering you that, Stormseeker. I have not made war plans. I have made
264 AmerIndian 2192

construction plans.” She smiled at him. “And how much planning do you

have to have, old man, to defeat Rowan’s small garrison. We stand on the

precipice of time. A moment we will seize, an action that will stun the worlds

and cement the AmerIndian Confederacy as the mightiest independent force

in any galaxy.”

“It’s not the Rowan’s small garrison I am worried about. It is the fleets

of UDA ships that will arrive after we take the planet that concern me”, said

Stormseeker. “The AmerIndian Confederacy has had unprecedented success

for the past few years, since White Earth, at least. I think we will set major

goals back by decades or more for the tribes. It worries me there will be no

time to run simulations. We are going in blind.”

John sat forward. “Actually, I think it is good there is no time for

simulations. It means we will have to act like human beings, assess the

situation with the limited data we have and make up our minds. Let's set it to

decision. We'll break and come back in fifteen minutes ready to vote. Does

anyone object?”

All the Elders shook their heads and rose from the table. Celetain and

John exited and headed for their places of contemplation. They were gone

too soon to see Weaver gathering Kugan and Stormseeker farther down the

hall.
 J. Scott Garibay 265

Lige's fleet fired to a standard correspondence plane, the fastest

escape from the situation. The moment his ships passed through the

correspondence plane Lige ordered all firearms returned to each ship's

armory and all troops confined to quarters with orders for body tank troops

to kill any soldier out of quarters on sight. The navcomps had been set to

calculate correspondence code for Tycho Command, the UDA Navy's

headquarters orbiting Earth.

Lige sat in Black Mariah's war room with his back to his four advisors.

Grant continued, “No question we took it in the teeth but we can still wipe

the blood away and give a good smile. We just have to spin this right. I

suggest you state that you only set up one Hellfire set, one ship was caught

in the back blast of the Hellfire and it sent a Nagasphere critical, taking out

the other eight ships. We dig up everything we can about the Captain of the

mutiny ship and say he simply cracked under the pressure, which is actually

true. I already have the video crews slicing up footage from the Prelgas

campaign. We just lay in the star setting from the Steel Circle location.”

Lige remained silent.

Smith asked, “What happens when either the AC or the mutiny ship

beam the real camera feed back to a communications satellite orbiting

Earth?”

Grant shook his head, “UDA censors won't allow something that

damaging to air without speaking to Admiral Lige first. We have too many
266 AmerIndian 2192

friends there. If it is delayed long enough for us to get some agents in we can

either insert something to make the feed agreeable or take control of the

feed in some other way. But I hold to what I said. We don't communicate at

distance from Earth, only in person. It gives way too much control to the

media. If we say nothing the news producers can't put a slant on it. If we give

them a three word statement it will be bent six ways to Sunday and spack us

regardless.”

Grant sat back. Before becoming Lige's media wizard he had handled

the Sullivan Presidential candidacy. He worked for Lige because he

recognized the future when he saw it. Grant knew the UDA media world

inside and out and routinely spun crisis into gold. Lige did not dwell on the

fact that Grant viewed lying as a fine art form.

Next to Grant was Aykers. The lean, balding man was Lige's head of

intelligence. Aykers had built an arsenal of damaging information on

politicians, celebrities and power players in the UDA over the past two

decades. His strength lied not in his ability to blackmail but in his ability to

give poisoned gifts. He gave information to his targets that they could use

against their enemies. But the end result always favored Aykers. Often

Aykers’ gift of information about an enemy served to inform the recipient of

Aykers’ keen ability to brutally harm anyone’s image at any time.

Lige's third advisor was Lincoln. Lincoln had built a stable of

professional killers and was able to arrange assassinations that served the

specific purpose of his clients. Lige knew Lincoln really didn't belong in the
 J. Scott Garibay 267

category of advisor as he rarely voiced his opinion on anything. However,

Lincoln had a wicked intelligence and a clarity that Lige admired. He could be

relied on to always see the shortest path between points A and B.

Lige swiveled his chair and nodded, “That's acceptable, Grant. Start

working now on ways to discredit or get the real feeds off the air. I'm not as

confident as you that the feeds will not make it on air. We do have good

friends among the censors and the top news producers, but my distance

from Earth seems to fool them into thinking ‘out of sight, out of mind’.

Lincoln, I want you to send out some of your hunters to find the mutiny ship.”

Lincoln lifted the glass of water in front of him and took a slow drink

before replying, “As soon as they have found it I will forward the location to

you and you can decide your next step.”

“Excellent. I want it done in less than ten days. “

Lincoln nodded.

Lige looked annoyed as he questioned Jaret. “So is this mutiny an

isolated incident or endemic problem I need to address further?”

Jaret looked at Lige and said nothing.

“You are at liberty to speak freely.”

Jaret blew a breath out. “Were you willing to sacrifice hundreds or even

thousands of soldiers to have a slim chance at getting those lodge ships?

That's the question the soldiers are asking themselves. You were out there on

this one. I suspect I know what you where thinking. We had all of the single
268 AmerIndian 2192

lodge ship tribes in one spot, if you could take them all it would cripple the

AC. The men sensed they were going to be the fodder. Unfortunately, we do

not have the type of fanatics the AC does. Most of our men are here to do

three years and then enjoy life in the private sector. They are not the self-

sacrificing types.”

Lige smiled a bit to let Jaret know he had not overstepped his bounds.

“I guess I'm too used to working with you.”

Jaret was surprised by Lige's compliment.

“What would you suggest?” Lige asked.

“I would tell the troops you were in error. You got over zealous with the

prize so close in sight. You will use them as a weapon and not a blood

sacrifice next time.”

Aykers and Grant burst out laughing. Such a blunt statement of truth

with no trap being laid was an alien, repulsive concept to the two of them.

Grant spoke. “OK, honestly, we need to put some agents out to plan

another mutiny. Then see which troops respond and dragnet them.”

Lige steepled his fingers. “Yes, let’s do that.”

 J. Scott Garibay 269

CHAPTER 20

Elder John asked the question that had been rattling in his head since

he saw Wovoka in the founder’s armor. “Celetain, what makes you sure this

warrior is the man to lead us to the Homeland.”

Celetain padded her answer. “Honestly, it matters not what any of you

think of Wovoka. I am within the rights of my position as Elder Shaman to

declare the White Buffalo. I can tell you that I believe the vision was given to

him because he is the one to lead us. I heard the Grandfather's voice when I

appointed him.”

Weaver grimaced. “You are within your rights to appoint the White

Buffalo, but surely you realize that this man can be nothing more than a

figure head. We will have to guide him in his decisions. He has no experience

at the game he is playing.”

Stormseeker leveled his eyes on Weaver. “None of us are playing a

game here, Weaver. Celetain, I detest the way you are going about this. Too

much secrecy, back hall dealings. However, despite my reservations, I trust

270 AmerIndian 2192

your guidance and frankly I believe Wovoka is the White Buffalo. I have dealt

with Pack Jade Dagger's work on several occasions. Wovoka is a warrior’s

warrior. He works harder, smarter and faster than any of his men but

demands they meet his example. I will give him my full support.”

Kugan followed. “I find this situation too volatile. We are acting on

emotion and superstition. Wovoka is a good man trapped in a bad situation.”

John folded his arms. “If we go forward with an action on Naanac,

Wovoka is the White Buffalo and we will all be bound by his decisions. We will

become this man's advisors. We need to be helpful and not allow a power

struggle to ensue.”

Wolf Plume stood and came to sit next to Wovoka. “It's a lot to take in,

I know. Celetain has said the Grandfathers are moving us forward. You are

part of that movement.”

Wovoka shook his head. “I was just thinking of Slow Turtle. Remember

how he would spend all his wampum on us at The Cave. Steak, ale…”

Wovoka laughed. “He spared no expense. But then if our next mission didn't

come in quickly, he would be asking us for wampum and we ended up giving

him more than he spent on us in the first place.” Wovoka slumped forward

and tears rolled down his face. The droplets splashed on the hard wood floor.

“Every tribal on those deflector ships meant the same to someone as Slow

Turtle meant to me.”

 J. Scott Garibay 271

Wolf Plume kept his hand on Wovoka's shoulder until his sobbing

stopped. “Wovoka, Slow Turtle didn't die for you, he died for the AmerIndian

Confederacy and for our Homeland. You would have done the same, given

your life in service to the AmerIndian Confederacy. Those tribals on the

deflector ships gave their lives so that we could feel solid ground under our

feet, for a home where we can live in harmony with nature. Wovoka, I can

feel the power of what is surrounding you. We have never been this close to

the fulfillment of the old prophecies and I believe what the Grandfathers are

telling Celetain. You will lead the people to the Homeland. Do not cry for Slow

Turtle. Remember him as a hero and do not waste the blood he shed toward

our Homeland.”

Wovoka looked up and Wolf Plume smiled at him and hugged him tight.

Keokuk came back into the room. “I'm sorry, Wolf Plume. I need a

moment with my brother.”

He nodded and left without argument.

Wovoka turned to Keokuk. “I always told you playing those space fleet

simulations was a waste of time. Guess I was wrong.”

Keokuk grinned and thought back to the hundreds of hours he had

spent playing fleet simulations on his comp set, hours spent alone in some

dark corner of the Tsimshian lodge ship. In their teen years, Wovoka had

urged Keokuk to get a grav board and join him Cavaho and Slow Turtle at the

races. The fleet simulations had been an outgrowth of his love for comps and
272 AmerIndian 2192

while he was now one of the top five programmers in the AmerIndian

Confederacy, he had paid a price. He weighed over 120 kilograms at just two

meters and in the AmerIndian Confederacy that was rare. Most of the other

programmers had been able to balance their inactive work life with the

mandatory vigorous exercise programs the Tsimshian tribe used.

In a small way, Keokuk was a victim of his own success. The Tsimshian

chief had waived the exercises for him as Keokuk finished important project

after important project. He was excused from so many exercise sessions that

it became too difficult for him to keep up with the classes when he did

attend. He was embarrassed and missed more classes.

Wovoka continued. “I was amazed at how much you knew.”

Keokuk shrugged. “I've dealt with projects from every Elder. Beating

Lige was easy because he thought he was fighting against Stormseeker. He

didn't understand my reactions in the proper context. It won't be easy next

time.”

Sliver entered the room abruptly. “The Elders request your presence,

Wovoka.”

Keokuk nodded to his brother as he left and thought about how much

progress they had made to resolve their differences in such a short time.

There was still the broken promise Keokuk had made to his father on his

deathbed. There was still the fact that Keokuk patently rejected the Native

American belief system in favor of Evangelic Christianity. However, working

 J. Scott Garibay 273

together toward a common goal was patching the wounds the two brothers

had carried since Stone Rains’ death. Perhaps there was hope for a true

reconciliation he thought to himself.

Wovoka shot upward on one of the lodge ship's automatic ladders. He

had left Wolf Plume and Cavaho behind so he could speak with the Elders

alone. For the first time he realized Pack Jade Dagger, his sole pursuit for the

last eight years, was now in limbo.

The auto-ladder stopped at Deck 61 and Wovoka entered the Elm

Room. It was one of several massive nature rooms the Diegueño kept. The

room spanned twenty decks, seventy meters in height and three hundred

meters in circumference. Magnificent elms stretched toward the ceiling and

the room looked like a lush forest. A mammoth Grizzly walked toward

Wovoka. It stood on its hind legs and roared, the sound shaking even the

thickest of the elms. Wovoka froze.

John appeared suddenly between the bear and Wovoka. “Elle, you ate

not more than an hour ago. Please don't be rude.” The gargantuan bear

fell to all four and loped to John. John ran his hand over the bear's furry

forehead and the bear gave a low growl. “Now off with you, we will play

later.” The bear turned and walked back to the trees. “Thank you for

coming, Wovoka. Please follow me.”

274 AmerIndian 2192

He knew John spent many hours on the Diegueño lodge ships. The

Elder Wisdom liked to think and write in their beautiful environments.

Wovoka considered what he knew of the other Elders. John led him through a

beautiful lightly trod path that ended in a small clearing. The clearing was

covered with soft thick brilliant green grass. The other four Elders sat on

rough-hewn stone benches and turned to face Wovoka and John. John sat and

since there was no other bench Wovoka stood. Wovoka wore only his combat

boots, black fatigue pants and a plain black shirt. He felt suddenly out of

place, unimportant. He was a tribal. He did not belong here with these

decision makers. The grandfathers had chosen the wrong man.

Celetain stood, “Wovoka, I am pleased to tell you the council has

decided to invade Naanac immediately. Navcomps are calculating the

correspondence planes now. We have all the material we need to build a

chunnel large enough for Zeta class shuttles to get through to Naanac’s

surface. Using Apache construction packs we will erect the chunnel in twelve

to sixteen hours. That gives us a timetable of fourteen to eighteen hours for

the invasion of Naanac. If we can get the chunnel up quickly we can get two

hundred thousand tribals on Naanac’s surface in twenty-four to forty-eight

hours. We are going to be extremely vulnerable to attack over the next two

days. Everything relies on our ability to completely lock down outgoing

communication. We are going to strengthen the guards against unauthorized

communication before we announce plans for the invasion. Regardless, the

situation will be volatile.”

 J. Scott Garibay 275

“What role do I play in all of this?”

Stormseeker answered, “You are the White Buffalo. It is your

responsibility to lead the tribals to war. You will provide strength and courage

and you will go where you need armies to follow. You will lead the tribals

through a river of blood to the Homeland.”

“Is the council unanimous on this decision?”

“No,” Morgan Weaver said. “I oppose this plan of action strongly.”

Kugan spoke gently, “It is important, Wovoka, that you understand that

the tribes will also not be unanimous on this course of action. Do whatever

you can to encourage unity among the tribes.”

John rose. “We will be with you throughout.”

Wovoka understood the ramifications of what was about to happen. If

the tribals were not convinced that Naanac was the Homeland, that Wovoka

was the White Buffalo, there would be discord. Everyday was a struggle for

the AmerIndian Confederacy, keeping nearly four hundred thousand tribals

safe from over millions in the UDA military structure. The Elders were

practiced at this task and things ran smoothly when the tribes worked in

harmony. Discord put every tribal in danger. Wovoka fell in line with the

Elders as they headed out to give word to the tribes. He prayed Wambli

would be with him.

276 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 21

Derek grabbed his comp and pulled on his tattered Oh’Rioz jacket. It

was tight, ragged and covered him with little more than shame. He got on his

knees, put his back to the floor and reached high and far under his bed. He

felt for plastic and pulled a portable comp out from the tear in the underside

of the mattress. He clipped it to the inside of his jacket. He left his room and

tried to be quiet as he made his way down the hall.

His mother was in her usual spot, the center of the view room. She did

not see him. He looked at her now. Despite her youth she looked tired and

worn. The view room was showing a special on the new mansions being built

for this year's UDA intergalactic lottery winners. Mother was intent on the

special, “oohing” and “ahhing” every now and then. The wall screens showed

her walking through the house with a Reis clone companion close at her side.

Derek shook his head, his anger rising.

The Henderson family consisted of himself, his mother, a sister and

two half-brothers. His father, George Harold Henderson, left his mother five
 J. Scott Garibay 277

years ago, not for another woman, but for two. George had landed himself

one of the polygamist marriages that were becoming popular on outposts.

Every month mother got a total of 250 UDA creds each for Derek and

Karen. His mother collected 350 creds each for his two half brothers. His half-

brothers were each allotted one hundred extra creds because they were born

out of wedlock (the UDA Outpost Psyche Department had determined such

children needed additional care). Another 800 creds were allotted to his

mother because she was diagnosed as bipolar, bringing the monthly total to

two thousand creds.

New Angelos, the Henderson’s home, was a shipbuilding outpost where

frames for beta class UDA prime ships were assembled. The outpost had a

relatively low tax bracket (forty percent) and the two thousand creds was

only cut to twelve hundred. The rent for their spacious three-room apartment

came to eleven hundred creds every month taking the sum down to 100

creds. Food enough for the five of them cost 600 creds - that was why his

mother sold her vote.

Since the 2080's UDA citizens had been able to sell their votes to the

highest bidder and the megacorps were more than willing to buy. Derek's

mother had signed a three-year agreement with Sledge for twelve thousand

credits a year. (She was looking forward to the end of that period so she

could sell her lifetime voting rights to Rowan Cartel for one hundred and fifty

thousand creds.) The extra 1,000 creds every month should have been
278 AmerIndian 2192

enough to pay for everything the family could need and a few luxuries to

boot. It was far from enough after Xanic.

Xanic was the number one drug used on all the colonies and outposts

in the UDA. Now in use by UDA citizens for forty years, Xanic doubled the life

expectancy of anyone who took it. One pill a day (starting at puberty) and a

person could live two hundred years, instead of the expected one hundred.

Megacorp Holstice, who produced Xanic, did not advertise that due to lack of

exercise the average UDA citizen’s actual life expectancy was only 55. Xanic

only took them out to 110 or 120. Xanic was produced as a mild barbiturate,

which made the drug addictive and increased user lethargy. Xanic’s cost of

750 creds a month for a single user was steep. Derek's mother bought Xanic

for herself and Derek. Fifteen hundred creds gone. Which meant the family

had a deficit of 1,000 creds a month.

This financial problem was then compounded by the last of the

Henderson family’s expenses, five hundred creds borrowed biweekly from

the UDA to play the Intergalactic lottery. The family accrued debt to the UDA

at a rate of eighteen thousand creds annually. The UDA knew the family had

no way to pay the loans back. The debt was extended so that the family

could never own land or ever send their children to a physical school or

college. Instead, the Henderson children would learn Tanglish, a language

based on English and Tamil. Anyone who spoke it could never circle into an

executive or management position of any kind. English was the language of

the business world.

 J. Scott Garibay 279

Derek's often wondered why his mother gave five hundred creds a

month to the Intergalactic Lottery. Why not two-fifty, or twenty-five, or as

Derek had pleaded a hundred times, zero? Each year the UDA Intergalactic

Lottery Bureau released the average lottery expenditure for a UDA citizen. It

currently hovered at four hundred creds. Derek's mother wanted to make

sure she was at least twenty-five percent over that mark and she still

groaned over whether she was buying enough. The prizes were tempting,

including raw creds, parts in movies, dates with celebrities, boats, cars,

starships and the ultimate prize - one to twenty years of Earth residency.

UDA law mandated a percentage of the major prizes had to be given to

colony and outpost residents. The UDA Intergalactic Lottery Bureau ensured

every neighborhood had at least one winner of the minor prizes, a new car or

a sizable cred amount. The UDA contended the intergalactic lottery was a

healthy element for society, giving some way for the billions of low income,

icon literate people to pay into the economy. Derek was sure the lottery and

Xanic were keeping his family weak and hopeless.

Derek stopped his attempts at silent movement when he realized no

one in the apartment was looking or listening to anything other than the wall

screens. He closed the apartment door behind him and walked down the

dark dirty hall. The names and status of every family unit shined on the

display at each door. He came to the end of the hall and looked down out of

the glasteel window. Vertical and horizontal sprawl loomed above and below.

He lived 425 levels above the south edge and 218 levels below the north
280 AmerIndian 2192

edge of the outpost where starships came and went. He watched as autograv

taxis shuttled workers to their stations. It was mid-day and the streets were

not busy. There were few workers on this outpost. Less than five percent of

the outpost's population held a job. Most of the shipyard was automated. Few

workers were required to run the yards and some of that small number was

off-worlders on short stays.

Suddenly from behind a support beam a figure appeared. The figure

shuffled forward and Derek could make out the ragged lining of the man's

coat. He was obviously homeless. There were few homeless on Derek's level.

Anyone could apply for UDA government assistance and get a rat hole

apartment with enough food to live indefinitely. But like most homeless,

sation discs or designer drugs had taken this man over the edge. He could no

longer function within the confines of the UDA system.

Derek heard the schwink of a plasteel blade locking.

“Th-th-throw the bag, boy.”

Derek did not hesitate. He pulled the bag from his back and tossed it to

the homeless man. The man moved forward and Derek caught sight of

twenty centimeters of plasteel as light hit the blade. The man scrambled

forward snatching up the bag.

“What you got, pup. Wh-wh-what's in bag for Bornie?”

Derek spoke up and taking a guess said, “Lucy Love's latest from

Earth.”
 J. Scott Garibay 281

The man began to shake. Derek was right. The vagrant was a sation

addict. Derek didn’t need to see the port at the man's temple to know he

was equipped to experience the full sensation disks that now dominated fifty

percent of the entertainment market and had challenged designer drugs as

the new life parasite of the twenty second century. The man tore at the

zipper, forgetting Derek was still in front of him.

Derek stood still. The man rooted with his right hand and pulled the

bag to his face. A brilliant arc of light crackled out of the backpack sending

thousands of volts whipping through the man's system. He and the bag

dropped to the ground. Derek picked up the bag with his hands on the

outside of the nylon and reactivated the stinger coil inside. He looked down

at the vagrant, a pathetic shriveled excuse of a man. Derek wondered if his

mother, brothers and sister would be able to avoid sation addiction. There

were thousands of addicts occupying the lower levels of the outpost.

The vagrant addict faced one of two futures. If he beat the seven to

one odds and was able to make it into a rehab he would have a ten percent

chance of kicking the habit. If he didn't make it into a rehab he would be

dead within two years, a conservative estimate. Derek knew from the news

feeds he heard that sation addiction was one of the few sociological patterns

that were offsetting Xanic’s extension of UDA citizen’s lives.

Derek made it to the point where he could pass from his outpost level

to the one below. He stood still silhouetted in the streetlights for a moment

and listened. A whistle echoed up from below and he peered over the edge
282 AmerIndian 2192

of the five meters of steel. Derek dodged back quickly as Choi swung up and

over the edge and landed like a cat before him. Choi was a thin, handsome

Chinese youth. Derek had met him a year and a half ago and now the two

were closer than brothers. Choi traveled the rest of the way with Derek to the

gathering place, the two together avoiding the dangers of the outpost.

Choi and Derek finally made their last few steps to their destination, an

abandoned gymnasium where forty youths were gathered. They were not a

homogeneous group. Some wore plothing, plastic out-dated clothes with

large company logos emblazoned on them like Derek’s jacket. Plothing was

free to anyone who asked and was a sign that the wearer was poor. Some

wore biker leathers like Choi. Others wore the rare materials of cotton or

denim. These clothes denoted status of the highest levels in the outpost.

At the center of the room a young man stood apart from the rest. He

wore simple clothes; jeans, a white cotton T-shirt and a coat that bore no

logos. As soon as he glimpsed Choi and Derek, he silenced the group around

him and headed straight toward the two. He spread his long arms and

hugged Choi tightly. Choi returned the gesture in earnest. Then the young

man hugged Derek. Derek tried with difficulty not to bristle at the embrace.

He could not remember the last time he had hugged any of his family,

including his mother. An embrace was the only way Lucas greeted any of the

members of his group. It was a part of who he was and Derek believed it had

something to do with why Derek felt closer to Lucas than anyone in his

family.
 J. Scott Garibay 283

“Our paladin is here at last,” Lucas yelled to the group behind him.

Derek followed Lucas back to the fire and made his way through a

dozen youths. He sat down on the only crate left that faced the fire in the

center of the room. Eleven other crates, with a youth sitting on top of each,

fanned out in a circle. The rest of the group sat behind the crates, crowding

around Lucas.

“When we can'ts stands no more, we sit!” Lucas laughed at his own

joke. “There's clean, cold water and grubs against the far wall. Help

yourselves, you don't have to ask but don't forget that only fraggers take the

first, last or most. Before we get to what we all came here for, does anyone

have an addition to the war chest?”

The group erupted in shouts, “Seventeen”, “Nineteen”, “Twenty-one.”

The numbers rolled out and Derek called out “Twenty.” Only the newbies did

not call out a number.

Choi keyed the numbers into his comp set. “That’s 476,” he called to

Lucas. “Brings our total to 2,354 creds.”

Lucas spoke. “Does anyone need funds? Speak now.”

A small boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen stood. “I've been breaking my

bearings on this board.” He held up a battered Wolf Ten grav board. “I can

Ollie, acid drop ten meters and rail slide three segments of the Korgan

monument. I am ready for slinging. I need flexi-cord and a harness. Ruba, if I

284 AmerIndian 2192

can get it. Askin’ for 270 creds.” The boy slapped his grav board down and

hopped on, twirling in a tight circle. The others whooped and laughed.

One of the boys stood. “I can say he's been crackin' his bones and

while his vertical still miniscule, I know he'll work hard with the equipment if

we give it to him.”

Lucas rubbed his chin. “I know we bought boarding equipment in the

past and it's important that all of us are able to move around the outpost

quickly, but I have to deny this request. Jake is going off planet in just

another two months. You can have his equipment then. Keep working. By the

way, we received an encrypted message from Dean, serving on a Tsimshian

lodge ship. He is doing well and thanks all of us for our help in getting him off

of New Angelos.”

Another boy stood. “I request a personal comp, delta grade. I know

how to read and I have taught two others. I wants to code.”

Lucas smiled, “A delta grade personal comp is a thousand creds

minimum, Malcolm. That's a big chunk of change. How would this help the

group?”

Malcolm shifted a bit. “I think I could learn to break and make standard

code in just a few months. I could book us space to meet up in the upper

levels. It would not be so dangerous for us all to get together.”

Lucas paced, “You are one of the best reading guides we have. If we

buy you a personal comp will you neglect your duties as a reading guide?”
 J. Scott Garibay 285

“No, no. I promise not to backslash at all. “

“I trust you, Malcolm. Twelve hundred creds. Get a solid model. No

fluffer chumbles. Does anyone question my decision?” Lucas gazed across

the room. None of the youths spoke.

The money talks continued with another youth getting one hundred

creds to buy extra food for his brothers and sisters for the month because his

father was now triple dosing on Xanic.

“But enough talk of business. Let's get to what we all came for.”

Lucas's steps became lighter and a glorious smile spread across his lips.

“When we last left off, Quell's Band was deep in the Great North. Quell had

lost a finger to the cold.” Lucas pointed at one of the youths. The boy

sneered back at Lucas and the audience laughed. “But Quell had driven his

rag-tag band of heroes farther, for he knew each step brought them closer to

the seventh and last section of the Staff of Cronos. The staff that could pierce

the hardened skin of the Drakolos, the creature that even now held all the

villages between the Hearth Mountains and the Life River captive.”

Lucas raised his arms like Dragon's wings and suddenly the brilliant

young man became what every youth here had come to see - the

gamemaster, the storyteller.

“You,” he pointed across the line of youths, “Now stand on a frozen

tundra. Ice and snow stretch in every direction but one. Before you gapes the
286 AmerIndian 2192

opening to the Black Ice Caverns. Consult your character sheets. What

weapons, armor, spells will you ready? What will remain in your pack?”

The twelve youths on the crates consulted their character sheets. The

youths behind them huddled around the players eagerly discussing strategy,

tactics, and what magic weapon could get the players the most experience

points. Each player read carefully all the items on their character sheet. That

they could read was what allowed them to be players and not spectators.

Lucas opened the game to anyone who could read at a sixth grade level.

Only the twelve boys who sat in front of him could do that. The others were

studying hard to win a spot on one of the crates. With twelve players it would

not be long before the group would need a second gamemaster or even a

third.

Derek had taken Lucas' lessons to heart. The UDA and the megacorps

calculated to keep its citizens and its customers weak and hopeless. Derek

could see it all around him. His brothers and sisters didn't play, they barely

paid attention to the two hours of educational wall screen viewing they were

required to complete each day. He knew Lucas was right, if he didn't fight to

stay mentally sharp and physically strong he would never leave this outpost.

Lucas also talked about a group of nearly four hundred thousand people

traveling the stars, fighting the UDA. Lucas's dedicated his roleplaying group

to helping the AmerIndian Confederacy. The AmerIndian Confederacy needed

sympathizers on the colonies and outposts. Lucas’s group would be the

 J. Scott Garibay 287

strong, literate insurgents proclaiming the AmerIndian Confederacy's

message when the time was right.

The youths called out the status of their characters.

“Short sword and buckler ready and I'm burying the two hundred gold

pieces in the snow before we enter the cavern.”

“Strength rated composite longbow with a silver tipped arrow at the

ready.”

“Long sword, no shield. All else packed.”

Lucas listened and smiled. “So you have readied yourselves. You look

down into gaping maw of the cavern. How do you proceed?”

288 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 22

Lige's fleet fired through the correspondence plane, instantly

appearing before the UDA's navy headquarters. Tycho Central, a sprawling

space station built in the 2060's, orbited Earth at a thousand kilometers. It

housed over six million administrators, techs and programmers who ran the

UDA Navy. Lige's fleet ships beamed tracking lasers to automatically dock

the ships at available ports.

Lige exited Black Mariah through a long glasteel tube into Tycho

Central. Stepping through the second airlock, Lige was nearly assaulted by a

crush of media agents. The throng pushed Lige back into the airlock. Jaret

burst forward and physically pushed the crowd back, “Every man and woman

out of this exit area. Form a line on both sides of the Yellow. Now.”

The media continued to push and Jaret quickly called two body tank

troops forward to bulldoze them back without delicacy. Lige ignored the

shouts and lights and made his way directly to the office of the Grand

Admiral. The huge reception area for the Grand Admiral was done in pristine
 J. Scott Garibay 289

white marble. Lige snapped to attention in front of the thin, young female

soldier/receptionist. “Admiral Lige, reporting battle outcome. Request to

report directly to the Grand Admiral.”

The receptionist rose and saluted Lige, flashing him an inviting smile.

“The Grand Admiral is in conference, Admiral. He will be able to see you in

twenty minutes.”

Lige lowered his arm from the salute but otherwise remained at rigid

attention. Jaret stood slightly behind in the same fashion. A few envoys came

in with reports and statements for the soldier/receptionist before the large

iron doors rolled open twenty minutes later. Grand Admiral Ramus strolled

out. He was a barrel-chested man with thick brown hair and a healthy beard

to match. He looked at Lige, turned and strolled back into his office. Lige

followed and Jaret remained in the white marble reception area.

The Grand Admiral's office was twice the size of the reception area.

Curiously, the office contained nothing more than three seats facing a large

black oak desk. There was tension between the two men. Ramus was quite

aware of Lige's talent and ambitions. He had never been able to get Lige

quite under control. In turn, Lige reveled in his ability to complete an

assigned task in any manner other than how he was ordered. Lige's saving

grace was a penchant for raw success.

Lige began slowly, “My intelligence network gave me a lead on a

possible location of the Steel Circle. I fired my fleet to the suspected location
290 AmerIndian 2192

and indeed the lead was correct. We engaged 30 lodge ships and 620

outrider ships. The battle window was small, only three to six minutes of

engagement, so I elected to try a new tactic. I used our Hellfire weapon. An

unknown dependency allowed the AC deflector ships to send a Hellfire beam

back destroying nine prime ships. Over seven hundred troops gave their lives

in the line of duty. The loss was devastating and my fleet was forced to

retreat. One prime ship had to be left behind because it was flanked.”

Ramus stood. He had to concentrate to keep a smile from creeping

across his face. Seven hundred of his troops were dead and Ramus could not

think of the last time he had received such wonderful news. “How long does

it take to build a standard prime ship, Admiral Lige?”

“Six to eighteen months, sir.”

“Why didn't you call in reinforcements before you fired to the Steel

Circle location?”

“I was not sure of the intelligence source and I know the other Admirals

all have important objectives to attain. I did not wish to lead any of them on

a feral goose pursuit.”

“If you were not sure of the intelligence then why would you take your

entire fleet in?”

“I had a strong premonition, Grand Admiral.”

Ramus walked out from behind his desk and circled behind Lige. Lige

did not turn to watch him. “So, you engaged every ship in the AC with out
 J. Scott Garibay 291

calling for reinforcement ships. Once you engaged their ships you failed

tactically, allowing the AC to destroy nine prime ships and kill seven hundred

UDA soldiers. And while you retreated a prime ship had to be left behind.

Probably already captured by the AC. Am I correct, Admiral?”

“You are correct, Grand Admiral.”

Ramus could hardly contain himself. “Lige, you have been successful

for quite some time. But as I have told you before the risks you insist on

taking cannot be maintained successfully over an extended period of time. I

must exact a strict punishment for your failure. I believe I know what will be

appropriate. A loss of this magnitude must be reported to two Race Reps as

well as the President. Why don't we make that report now? You can answer

the Race Reps questions yourself.” Ramus sat at his desk and keyed a

channel to his receptionist. “I need an Alpha Grade system link to Sullivan,

Cruz and Dresden.”

There was an uncomfortable moment while the two waited for the link-

up. They both walked to the far wall screen. The faces of the Race Reps

loomed in front of them. President Sullivan appeared to be in the lobby of an

art theater. Joyce Dresden, and attractive middle-aged African woman was on

the ski slopes of Vail. Manuel Cruz, a young dashing Hispanic, was seated at

a magnificent antique desk.

The Grand Admiral stepped forward and as he opened his mouth Lige

interjected, “President Sullivan, I apologize that I have not been able to tell
292 AmerIndian 2192

you sooner but my men were successful. Alexa is safe aboard The Black

Mariah and she is very eager to see you.”

Sullivan's face changed instantly from annoyance at this interruption to

sheer joy. He put his hand over his mouth and turned from the remote

camera. “Thank you, Lige. Thank you. Please keep her aboard your ship. I will

come to get her myself.”

Race Rep Joyce Dresden smiled. “All hail the conquering hero.”

Ramus was aghast.

Lige fielded Dresden's comment. “No, Madam Representative, I am

afraid that the return of the president’s daughter is the only good news. I

regret to report that I lost nine prime ships and seven hundred men as I

engaged the AmerIndian Confederacy fleet in the Periphery.”

Cruz interjected, “How were you able to find the AC?”

“Decker, sir. He is my best intelligence operative. I believe he has

handled some matters for your staff on occasion.”

Lige watched as Cruz mentally took note of the name. Lige was sure

Decker would be transferred directly to Cruz's own intelligence staff soon.

“What happened?” Dresden asked.

“My fleet came in suspecting to find nothing and we fired to a point

almost too far to intercept the lodge ships. I gambled and tried a new tactic

developed by Team Omega, Representative Dresden.”

 J. Scott Garibay 293

Dresden sat forward. “Team Omega my all woman strategy team? I

assembled them over a year ago and have been promoting their work for the

new UDA navy every since. Their proposed strategies are completely askew

from those put forward by the traditionally male-dominated strategy teams.”

Lige continued as Ramus simply gaped, “I'm sorry, Representative

Dresden. Team Omega's strategy was sound. I failed to execute it properly.

We lost nine prime ships because I was not able to properly implement what

was obviously a well-developed tactic. I have prepared my first officer and

my ships are ready for new fleet assignments. I submit myself for martial

punishment.”

Dresden shook her head. “Nonsense, Admiral Lige. You are the best

admiral the UDA navy has, without peer. We need you out there. You are the

only male admiral who has reported even attempting to use the new Team

Omega strategies. I understand there will be some growing pains with their

initial use. But I refuse to see you punished for showing some imagination.

Don't let the loss slow you down. I am confident you can use the same

ingenuity you used to find the AC this time to find them again.”

Cruz added, “But this time, Lige, don't go charging off by yourself.

Enlist the aid of your fellow admirals. A lone wolf cannot lead the pack.”

Sullivan added almost as an afterthought, “Was there anything else,

Grand Admiral Ramus?”

Ramus remained speechless. “No, no, President. Nothing else.”

294 AmerIndian 2192

While Ramus had not been bright enough to avoid walking head long

into Lige's ambush, he knew any further attempt to discredit Lige at this

point would only show himself in a bad light to the gathered dignitaries.

As if laying one last slap across Ramus's face, Dresden added, “Grand

Admiral, please pull premium ships from the Targas fleet to replenish Lige’s

fleet.”

Lige interjected, “Actually, Representative Dresden, I would prefer to

relinquish a few ships. I would like to test Team Omega Theorem 111,

'Efficiency at any price.'“

“What exactly do you mean, Lige?”

“Well President Dresden, I-” Lige was briefly interrupted by Sullivan

logging off. Lige was confident that the President was eager to get on a

shuttle to Black Mariah to see his daughter, Alexa. Lige started again, “I wish

to reduce my fleet to four hundred prime ships from nine hundred. I have

several methods I will employ to cut the fat.”

Cruz perked up at this. “You propose to show superior performance

with a smaller fleet?”

Lige answered, “That is exactly what I propose, President Cruz. I

believe the new theorem is correct and I plan to implement many more Team

Omega changes.”

Dresden beamed.
 J. Scott Garibay 295

Cruz laughed, “Imagine that, an admiral that says he can do more with

less. I hope you have a few more like Lige in the pipe, Grand Admiral Ramus.

We could use them in this damnable war against the AC.”

Ramus could not contain himself, “I'm sorry, Representative but there

is no one else in my command like Lige.” He forced a smile.

Cruz began to terminate the call, “Battles are lost on occasion, Admiral

Lige. But you can win this war. Superb work on returning Alexa. We were all

worried.”

Dresden cut in, “I will forward you the rough draft of the latest theorem

of Team Omega, Lige. Don't wait so long for your next visit to Tycho.”

Both screen bubbles were replaced with the UDA sigil. Lige returned to

his rigid stand of attention. Ramus circled in front of him, intending to launch

a tirade. Instead, he stuttered and simply spat, “Dismissed.”

“Now before we were so rudely interrupted…” John started.

Tribals on all of the lodge ships laughed. They were in good spirits. The

AmerIndian Confederacy had just laid down a cargo bay worth of defeat on

the UDA and Celetain had once again proven to be a formidable prophet. The

Haida held Celetain's prophecy as an important event, for it aided in quieting

Cybershamanism’s detractors. It was clear to most tribals that Celetain was

something more than a traditional Shaman. Even the tribes that held strictly

to the tenets of science (the Tsimshian, in particular) now had members

296 AmerIndian 2192

excited by the power of the Celetain's prophecy. Even if they thought

Celetain's prophecy was a parlor trick, it was spectacular nonetheless.

“Wovoka has been declared the White Buffalo and we are at war. The

Elders Council has weighed the proposal set before us by Celetain. We were

faced with the decision to seize the moment and invade Naanac, a planet

that will be a challenge to live on. I know some of you believe a decision to

follow Celetain’s prophecy will scatter our plans for invasion of White Earth to

the four winds. Some of you are asking - is there still a way to play cautious,

take the victory we have gained this day against the UDA fleet, and move

forward on White Earth. The Council considered these elements and has

decided to invade Naanac and abandon our hopes of capturing White Earth.”

A cacophony answered John 's announcements. Half the tribals

applauded and half shouted questions and harangues. John set his eyes on

all of the tribals before him. His image was carried by hard light displays to

the other lodge ships.

The din died down and John continued. “The Elders know this decision

is sudden. We regret we did not have time to put this up for discussion

before all the tribes. We have spoken to every chief and have listened to

your concerns.”

“You have ignored our concerns,” Brule Chief Satyr shouted. He was an

ancient warrior, now over nine decades old. Satyr showed the clear features

of pure AmerIndian heritage.

 J. Scott Garibay 297

Stormseeker stood, “We have not ignored your words, Chief Satyr. You

know as well as I do that the AmerIndian Confederacy’s strength lies in

speed and unpredictability. The Brule must put aside their angers from the

White Earth Massacre. There will be plenty of battle at Naanac and I assure

you that all the UDA’s hated admirals - Lige, Crelland and Farlec - will be

there.”

Coganthan, chief of the Apache, stood. “I hear your apprehension,

Brule brother, but the time is now. There are too many signs, foretold by the

wise and powerful Celetain Prax, to ignore the fact that this is the critical

moment. The Apache tribe supports the Elders in their decision.”

Chiefs of the Zuni, Kichai and Diegueño all echoed Coganthan's

sentiment. Satyr was undeterred.

“The Brule have left too much blood on the soil of White Earth to turn

away and follow a boy to win a swamp. We refuse to acknowledge Wovoka as

the White Buffalo. This whelp is barely a man. The Brule stand in defiance of

the Elders’ decision.”

A hush came across every lodge ship except the Brule's who roared in

support of Chief Satyr.

Stormseeker pointed. “How dare you-”

Wovoka stepped forward and raised his hand to Stormseeker. “I am not

the White Buffalo at my choice or yours, Satyr. I am the White Buffalo

because it is what the Grandfather's have shown the Elder Shaman. You do
298 AmerIndian 2192

not have the wisdom of the Grandfathers. I call your people to war and if you

as their chief will not have them follow me then I will take your chiefdom

from you.”

“There is only one way to settle a challenge to my leadership, boy, and

that's the Brule way, the Way of Blood.”

“The Way of Blood is fine, old dog.”

“I will choose my champion, Wovoka. Best him and you will have

chiefdom over the Brule.”

“And the Brule will follow me as chief the way you have followed the

Elders?” Wovoka asked.

Satyr looked struck. He had been a loyal servant of the AC for many

years. It was obvious that even in his defiance he did not like to be called

disloyal. He looked behind him at his assistants and advisors. He told them

with a look that they would make his following statement true. “No Wovoka,

Infiltrator Pack Alpha of the Apache, they will follow you.”

“Then so be it. I will win your chiefdom and we will be done with this

delay. But Satyr, I am the White Buffalo, and I intend to show you that. Do

not pick a champion; pick three. Every Brule must know that I have the

strength of the Grandfathers. Choose quickly. I will be on your ship soon.”

With that Wovoka walked off the center dais, heading in the direction

of the hangar bay, leaving the Elders behind.

 J. Scott Garibay 299

“Wovoka, are you sure this is the best course of action? The

rattlesnake does not eat three eggs at once.” Keokuk said with a grin as he

nearly jogged to keep up with his brother.

Wovoka whispered, “I hope it is. If the Grandfathers have chosen me, I

will not fail. If I have not been chosen by the Grandfathers that will soon be

apparent to everyone.”
300 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 23

Wovoka entered the fighter hangar and headed to a Jet Shark that was

already railed. He took the helmet offered by a tech tribal and hopped down

into the cockpit. The canopy clicked shut and the Jet Shark shot out of the

bay. It made a tight arc and in a few seconds Wovoka was firing control

thrusters and operating grav manipulators to enter the flight bay on the

Brule lodge ship. The canopy popped and Wovoka pulled himself out. He was

barely on the flight deck when he ordered the closest tribal, “Lead me to the

challenge arena.”

Brule warriors by the hundreds lined the halls that led to the challenge

arena. All were silent, their stares hard. Wovoka entered the challenge arena

where the two spectator decks were crammed with Brule warriors. The

entrance to the challenge arena lead directly to the battle floor. The battle

floor was fifteen meters in diameter and a third of a meter thick. The deck

floated five meters off of the floor on anti-grav discs. Bright blue lights

circled the edge of the battle deck. Between the blue lights, spaced at one
 J. Scott Garibay 301

meter increments were handrails that melded into the deck. Knotted flexi-

cords hung from the handrails at the edge of the platform.

Without acknowledging any of the Brule gathered or the Brule

hierarchy who now stood directly under the battle deck Wovoka jumped the

three-meter gap to the battle deck and scaled the flexi-cord. He pulled

himself on top of the battle deck and yelled, “Send the champions now.”

Moments passed and Wovoka began to pace with anger. He was ready

now and wanted this done. The first Brule champion, a tall well-muscled

Caucasian, pulled himself over the edge. Wovoka knew him; Bo Riggs, a

Notre Dame running back that had passed up a lucrative career in the IFL to

join the AmerIndian Confederacy. Riggs had distinguished himself as a

capable leader in less than a year.

The other two champions pulled themselves up together. Both were

true bloods with traditional features; dark skin, smooth oval faces and long

poker straight black hair. Wovoka recognized the two as the River twins,

Parthan and James River. The Brule called them by nicknames, Fork and

Eddy. Brule trainers, they were highly skilled martial artists. Wovoka started

to walk to the center of the battle deck and was surprised to see Cavaho

waving his arms at the side on the higher spectator deck. Cavaho made four

sharp gestures in pack hand combat code. Wovoka read the code easily -

“Two first ball last.”

302 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka nodded. Take the twins out first, save Bo for last. It was good

advice. Both of the twins were as good as Wovoka, together they would be

deadly. Wovoka now stood at the center of the battle deck and the three

Brule surrounded him at equal intervals. The champions acknowledged the

challenger with quick, short glances and broke to head for the weapons

section. Wovoka followed. On the battle deck were four weapons - a solid

steel baseball bat, a long three-meter pole, a steel billy club and a thick,

heavy three-meter chain with a dull hook on the end.

On the battle deck the weapon of choice was the chain. It was the only

weapon that could help a warrior stay on the deck as well as lay down

significant body damage if properly used. The rules of the Brule Challenge

were simple. Anyone to fall off of the battle deck to the floor below lost.

Anyone standing alone on the battle deck, all opponents dispatched, won.

Wovoka picked up the long pole. Chatter rolled forward from the

spectators. Each warrior took his position at one of the markers spaced

evenly around the circumference of the floating battle deck.

Eddy stood at Wovoka's left, Fork directly across, and Bo at the corner

to Wovoka's right.

A loud clear chime emanated throughout the arena, signaling the start

of the match and triggering the battle deck into a steady flat spin.
 J. Scott Garibay 303

The Brule champions stepped forward warily. As the start signal rang

out Wovoka's legs were pumping. He surged forward with the pole held tight

in his hands, as a pole-vaulter would carry it.

Each of the Brule understood that caution was imperative as the deck

spun. A misstep onto one of the rungs would cause a trip, a mistake your

opponent would not let you rise from. Wovoka ran, each step moving slightly

right to counteract the spin of the battle deck.

Eddy and Bo realized what Wovoka was doing, but too late. Fork had

not distanced himself from the edge and had little room to maneuver.

Wovoka barreled down on Fork with the pole, clearly intending to spear him.

With nowhere to run Fork raised the billy club. Wovoka continued undaunted.

The second the pole was close enough Fork swacked it away. The pole sprang

away but Wovoka had the target he needed.

Simultaneously, Wovoka let go of the pole and kicked his legs up and

forward. He was moving fast now and Fork was just a half-meter off his

course. Wovoka's legs, waist and torso passed Fork. With speed and precision

Wovoka grabbed Fork with his left hand under the chin. Wovoka's body was

now traveling with all his momentum over the edge of the battle deck. He

used his momentum to haul Fork off his feet and over the edge with him. But

as the two began to go over the edge (Wovoka feet first, Fork head first)

Wovoka shot out his right and grabbed the handrail at the edge. Wovoka

stopped his momentum with shoulder jarring force. Fork flailed his arms

behind and beneath his back without success to grab the handrail. He did
304 AmerIndian 2192

manage to grip Wovoka's pants. The cloth slipped from between his fingers

as all his weight pulled him to the floor. His angry howl ended abruptly when

he hit the floor shoulder first with a dull crunch.

Wovoka was already swinging deeper to the center of the bottom of

the battle deck using the handholds. Above, Eddy and Bo exchanged a

glance. Eddy’s fury showed. The champions were less than ten seconds into

the match and they were already down a fighter. Eddy cocked his thumb,

motioning for Bo to go below. The deck continued to spin. Bo jogged to the

edge of the deck, skooched down and pointed his back-side out over the

edge. He grabbed two handrails tightly and hopped, kicking his legs back

and extending his arms. With one clean swoop he swung down feet first,

ready to kick Wovoka away if he were there.

Wovoka was meters away waiting patiently with a broad smile. Bo

swung away from him, moving around the edge of the bottom of the battle

deck. Suddenly, what Bo had been waiting for happened. As if on a giant

spatula, the battle deck flipped like a pancake.

The battle deck was sheer vertical when Bo released his grip from the

handrails and dove toward Wovoka. His orientation to the deck carried him

quickly and he crashed into Wovoka. Wovoka tumbled back with Bo catching

at his clothes. The two started to roll down the battle deck but a handrail

jammed into Wovoka's ribs, stealing momentum. The rest of his momentum

was lost as the deck swung level. The two men were no more than a meter
 J. Scott Garibay 305

and a half from the edge. With a cry Wovoka rolled Bo to the side and

skittered out from underneath him.

Bo stood and moved quickly a few meters away to where the chain lay,

magnetically held to the floor. He yanked it up and took a few steps to the

right to cut Wovoka off from the pole that clung on the deck. Bo began to

swing a meter of the chain in his hand. Wovoka stepped toward him. Bo

whirled the chain harder and let out slack. Wovoka circled but did not move

back. Bo whipped the chain forward and Wovoka hopped back, the chain

passing a quarter meter from his chest. As the chain passed Wovoka moved

in, bolting toward Bo. Bo had anticipated this. Wovoka reached a good clip

before Bo let the chain go. It flung noisily across the battle deck beyond the

spinning edge, clinking to a stop at the force field that protected the Brule

spectators.

Bo spun with the arc of the chain and for a moment his back was

exposed to the advancing Wovoka. With a burst of speed Bo lifted his leg

high and rode the force of his full 360-degree turn. Wovoka had his right

coiled back for a devastating punch. Bo’s kick caught Wovoka across the side

of the head. He was pulled off his feet and he fell to the deck like a downed

tree. Wovoka struggled to remain conscious. He could not move. Bo was

moving toward him and Wovoka watched as the large Brule extended his

arm out to grab Wovoka. Bo intended to throw Wovoka's now limp body over

the edge.
306 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka pushed forward all the fear and anger from his mind to his

limbs. He reached up and grabbed Bo's outstretched hand and rolled,

hopping his body off an impeding handrail. Bo's arm twisted unnaturally and

he fell to his knees as Wovoka rose to his feet. Bo's teeth were bared as

Wovoka yanked his arm farther. His head went lower. Wovoka shot three fast

hard kicks, one to Bo's stomach, one to his face and one to his ribs, without

letting go of his arm. Bo was barely conscious and Wovoka kicked him hard

over the side of the battle deck.

Sweat covered Wovoka's face and he ached from where the handrails

had jabbed into his ribs. He thought about swinging down below but knew

the spinning of the battle deck would disorient him. He stepped back slightly

to his left and saw Eddy swing up onto his side of the deck. Eddy held the

billy club. The fast, lithe Brule approached Wovoka.

Wovoka pulled back into the Kata III stance he had practiced a

thousand times with Cavaho. Eddy came within a meter and a half and

Wovoka decided not to wait. He flew a fast kick at Eddy's mid section. Eddy

effortlessly slammed the kick away with the billy club and hit Wovoka with a

hard jab to his face. Wovoka staggered back. Eddy whipped the billy club

down at Wovoka's knee and connected. Wovoka felt the searing pain as his

knee cracked.

Eddy followed with a knee to Wovoka's gut. Wovoka knew he could not

match Eddy in hand-to-hand. Eddy would soon knock him unconscious, if not

crack his skull like an egg, with the billy club. Wovoka felt his knee was
 J. Scott Garibay 307

barely able to support his weight. He could not let this fight end on the top of

the battle deck. He had to make it through to the flip of the deck and then

some of Eddy's advantage would be neutralized. Wovoka hit the deck and

scramble rolled to the edge. Eddy followed, striking at Wovoka's hand as he

scrambled away. The blow clanged on the deck and Wovoka struggled to

move faster.

Eddy's second attack with the billy club was more successful and he

landed a brutal hit to Wovoka's calf. It landed with a thick, sickening thud but

did not break the bone. Wovoka passed by the baseball bat and grabbed it.

On his back, he used the bat to ward off two more blows from the billy club

and finally the battle deck flipped.

Dropping the bat, Wovoka rolled over and clamped onto two nearby

handrails. Eddy staggered backward and had to drop the billy club to grab a

handrail. The deck leveled and Eddy began to swing to Wovoka. Wovoka

waited and did not dodge as Eddy sent a jab to his chin. The blow glanced off

because the swinging Eddy had little leverage.

With one quick movement Wovoka swung into Eddy, pulled his knees

up and let go of both handrails. Wovoka caught Eddy's jumpsuit with both

hands. Eddy’s face showed surprise for a moment and he clamped harder on

the handrails to hold both of them up. Then Eddy realized since Wovoka was

holding onto him all he had to do was let go and they would both fall to the

floor, both would be declared losers. Satyr would remain the Brule chief and

Wovoka would have failed to prove, through combat, his status as White
308 AmerIndian 2192

Buffalo. The thought of letting go flashed through Eddy's mind as he felt

Wovoka yank hard on his jumpsuit. Eddy’s grip came loose.

Wovoka's yank was fast and calculated. As the two fell Wovoka pulled

Eddy into him and did a short roll so that Eddy's back faced the hard floor.

With force Eddy slammed onto the floor. His back and the back of his skull

smacked onto the plasteel. Wovoka knees were tucked tight to Eddy's chest

and he clutched Eddy's jumpsuit at both shoulders. Eddy's ribs snapped like

twigs under Wovoka’s knees. Wovoka stared down intently at Eddy, ready to

move his hands from Eddy’s shoulders and knock him unconscious if he

moved. But the unfortunate tribal was unconscious, well on his way to death.

The spectators roared. The White Buffalo had been defeated. He had

fallen to his defeat. But the other half of the crowd was pulling the cheering

tribals back down to their seats pointing at the battle deck, which was still

spinning. The tribals stared at the spinning battle deck's blue lights shining

brightly on all sides. When the match was over the battle deck stopped

spinning and all the edge lights turned red. The Brule watched as Wovoka

stood, carefully keeping his feet on Eddy's body, not touching the floor.

Wovoka’s pain was evident but he determinedly forced himself to stand,

placing his weight on his good leg. He stood precariously on Eddy's hips until

the deck flipped again. Wovoka's arms were outstretched as the deck hit him

from behind. The breath was knocked out of him but he clutched a handrail

and the deck carried him up.

 J. Scott Garibay 309

When the battle deck leveled it stopped spinning and the red lights

came on.

Wovoka lay on the floor for a moment before he was able to breathe

again. Slowly, fighting through the pain, he stood.

A Brule medic bounded over a three-meter bridge that had been

extended out from the spectator area to the battle deck. Wovoka gestured

for the medic to give him his comp set. Wovoka’s voice was carried to every

lodge ship. “Satyr, I have won your chiefdom.” Wovoka coughed and blood

sprayed onto his hand. “I am the White Buffalo because the Elder Shaman

speaks the voice of the Grandfathers and the strength of the Grandfathers

passes through me now. I am ready to lead the AmerIndian Confederacy to

the Homeland, the first of many lands our people will live again in peace and

harmony with nature. If we are to be successful we must act as one spirit,

one body, one mind.” Wovoka spit blood and continued, “No tribal can

distrust another. No tribal can doubt the intentions or the sincerity of

another. No tribal can give another a reason for doubt. We must all work

tirelessly toward our goal. We must all believe that together the homeland

will be ours. Satyr, I need the support and loyalty of every chief. I will not

give your people a command to join in the invasion. Instead, I give you back

your chiefdom and I ask you as a brother to command your people in the

way you see fit. Do not command out of deference to the legendary position I

now hold. Command them because you know the other tribes need you to

succeed.”
310 AmerIndian 2192

Satyr stood and cried, “Invasion.”

The crowd roared and the Brule scattered in every direction to prepare

for war. The navcomps continued to calculate correspondence planes.

Destination Naanac.

Grey halls slipped past Jaret. He nodded at the brig officer as he

passed. Lige had made sure to keep Alexa Sullivan's identification a secret.

The prison guards saw her simply as another prisoner, although female

prisoners were unusual. The official roster showed her as a crewmember of

the prime ship Silke who was waiting to be transferred to a penal outpost in

the Privilege system for a one-year incarceration for insubordination.

“Code lock to voice pattern Jaret Tucker. Delta Zeta storage protocol.”

Jaret was hiding the video feed of his meetings with Alexa in Lige's

processed intelligence database. He entered the cell to find Alexa poring

over a bubble display on the wall. He had cleared access to the literature

sections for Alexa. She read voraciously. Once a day she was let out to use

the gym facilities, alone. She used that time to swim. To Jaret's knowledge,

he was the only person who spoke to her. The guards were under orders to

stun her if she spoke a word in their presence. Alexa had learned silence

quickly.

Jaret sat down at the end of the bench. He took out some chocolates.

She smiled, took one. Jaret looked at his boots as he spoke, “I see you read
 J. Scott Garibay 311

all of Dicken's work. I read a bit of ‘Martin Chuzelwhit’. His work is slow and

dry. What do you like about it?”

“The time,” she said. “Lives were simpler then. Confrontation revolved

around reputation and status, not bloodshed. I find it quaint, relaxing. I think

it disturbs you because you are a killer.”

He looked down at his hands. “I am not a killer. I am a soldier. You

should know the difference after being with the AC for that long.”

“You have a choice, Jaret. You don't have to do what you do. Or at least

you could serve a cause that matters. Leave Lige. Go to the AC. With your

knowledge of Lige’s fleet the AC could launch a rescue attempt for me in

twenty-four hours.”

“I wouldn't need the AC to get you off this ship.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“But that is not something I will be doing, Alexa.” It was difficult for

him to understand. He realized he was her jailer. He was the only social

contact she had. Jaret could tell she was attracted to him, maybe even felt

something approaching affection for him. Yet she did not make any invitation

to him, no requests. She never even promised anything for her release. She

simply continued to tell him her release could help him if he would defect to

the AC with her. He liked her measure of self-control.

312 AmerIndian 2192

Alexa put her hands in her lap and became quiet. He thought for a

moment and all of the feelings surged back. He pulled closer. “I am thinking

about freeing you.”

She looked at him. “Would you go with me?”

He was struck by the bluntness of the question. He had thought of

many different responses she would have to his statement but her question

surprised him, excited him. “No, of course not.”

“Why are you considering this?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Jaret leaned in closer.

“Say it.”

“I love you.” He looked at her. What had gone unspoken was now

overt.

“I love you,” Alexa said.

Jaret let the words wash over him like cool rain. He leaned forward to

kiss her and she slapped him with all her strength.

“I do love you but there can never be anything between us. You choose

to kill my people, who wish only peace. There can never be anything

between us.” With that she turned from him.

He stood abruptly and left without another word. He had work to do to

effect her escape. Her return to the AmerIndian Confederacy.

 J. Scott Garibay 313

CHAPTER 24

Lodge ship Iron Bow was a maelstrom of activity. Tribals moved quickly

through the ship setting function columns to new parameters, readying the

lodge ship for war. It was easy for Broge to move unnoticed. He approached

the level’s weapons chamber. He finger tapped a release code and pulled a

Sledge Decimator from the rack and grabbed two bandoleers of ammo clips.

Broge had tried everything he could to avoid this situation. There was

no way around it. He spoke into his comp set. “List all forty to eighty ton

outrider ships which are loaded with full armament but have not filed ready

status.” The ship server threw the list of three ships across the lenses of his

comp set. Broge chose a sixty-five ton heavy bomber transport.

Broge ducked past a few tribals who were transporting spread-inducer

cannons to empty exterior gun ports. He was nervous, also excited, as he

entered level six of Hangar 276. Badger sat moored by two sturdy extension

rails. Two tribals, weighed down by power tools, moved across the top of the

ship checking structure variables and settings. Broge entered Badger after
314 AmerIndian 2192

working his way down two level ladders. As a clerical assistant to Celetain

Prax his usual tasks included diplomacy, record keeping, information

gathering. He was not used to this type of physical exertion.

The rear airlock led Broge into a long hall running the length of Badger,

forward bridge to engineering. Broge saw a form pass across the hall down

near the catalyst chamber. He moved quickly toward the bridge passing

another tribal. The young woman was in the small armory checking each

weapon for a full clip. He could tell by the tribe totem embroidery on her

short-cropped jacket that she was Diegueño. She was dressed in bright

yellow with stark white boots.

“Assistant Broge, what brings you to Badger? Is there some way we can

help Elder Prax?”

“Yes, there is. We have a critical breach code coming from this ship to

central. I am here to investigate.”

“Why wasn't a Tsimshian sent?”

“Everyone is busy preparing for the invasion. Please lead me to the

bridge so I can see what the problem is.”

“No need for that.” She finger tapped and displayed the ship’s status

on Broge’s comp sets. “No, Assistant Broge, nothing reads abnormal on the

ship.”

Broge frowned. I would like to see the bridge, specifically where the

transmitter is.”
 J. Scott Garibay 315

“Of course, Assistant Broge.” The woman turned to lead him quickly

to the bridge.

Badger's bridge was large with several seats. The Diegueño walked

forward into the bridge and turned as the grip of the Sledge Decimator

crashed down into her forehead. The Diegueño reeled and her head crashed

into the seat behind her. Broge had failed to knock her unconscious and she

began to raise her head groggily. Clumsily, he clubbed her again and winced

as blood flowed from her forehead. Broge cursed and slammed the black

duffle down. He pulled out a coagulant patch and tore it open with his teeth.

Quickly he slapped the patch unceremoniously onto her forehead. He pulled

out a shiny roll of metallic tape. He pulled off a start to the roll and began to

wrap it around the Diegueño’s head. Broge covered every part of her face

except her nose and mouth. Nervously he shot a glance over his shoulder

down the hall. No one.

Broge hurried, pulling the Sledge Decimator out over his shoulder. He

pointed the barrel at the back of the Diegueño’s skull and began to wrap the

metallic tape to the Decimator. After wrapping the length of the gun he used

his left hand to wrap the metallic tape around his right hand, which now

clutched the Decimator. Cutting the metallic tape with a vibro blade from the

duffel he slumped into a seat beside the Diegueño.

“Comp, access Doolittle Zeta Nine. Strip code protocol. All command

options transfer to bridge alone. Disable all ship input code other than those

directed through my comp set. Execute on command code 765AB7D. Ship

316 AmerIndian 2192

lock down immediately. Run minimal prep for launch.” Broge listened and

heard the clank of the airlocks and the whine of the engine.

Tribals were now jumping from the top of the ship to the hangar floor.

Seconds passed before tribals began throwing on their comp sets to contact

central. “Convert to voice command only.”

“Launch ready,” the comp set responded in the voice of Potlatch

Weaver.

“Pull out of dock and sweep 180 at first available interval.” Badger's

engines whined and the ship glided backwards, data links and oil hoses

snapping off like twine holding a vault. Badger rolled out of the docking bay

and swiveled to point away from lodge ship Iron Bow.

“Comp, how many people are on this ship and what are there

locations?”

“Six tribals currently on board. Their locations are indicated by red

circles on your display.”

Broge studied the display on his comp set lenses. The lock down he

had initiated isolated each tribal, trapping each in a segment of the ship by

airlock. He noticed two tribals were together in the engineering section.

“Comp, open Airlock 19 and decompress the engineering section.”

Broge watched as the red circles moved out of the engineering section. He

ordered the comp to use the same technique to herd all of the tribals to the

compartment directly outside of the bridge.

 J. Scott Garibay 317

Suddenly a crossworker’s face filled Broge's comp set view. “You are in

violation of the invasion silence edict. Return to the lodge ship immediately

or you will be fired on.”

Broge hissed, “Comp, give signal vid and audio to Central. Central, this

is Anthony Victor, UDA intelligence agent, formerly Broge, assistant to

Celetain Prax. I have seven tribal hostages. If any part of this ship is fired on

the compartment I have my hostages in will be decompressed. I have also

ensured that if I am personally injured this Diegueño will die immediately.”

Broge nodded down to where the assault rifle was taped at one end to his

wrist and at the other to the Diegueño.

With that message Broge released the channel and checked the

correspondence plane countdown on his comp set. Eight minutes, ten

seconds.

Wovoka ran into council bridge. All of the Elders were there save

Weaver.

Kugan turned and motioned Wovoka over. “We have a six minute

window. Broge has seven hostages sealed tight in a stolen outrider ship.

There is little we can do. If he can jump that outrider ship or send a message

back to Earth then the Naanac invasion will be severely threatened.”

318 AmerIndian 2192

Celetain finger tapped. “Broge, why are you doing this? You have lived

with us. You know we struggle for peace. Why are you returning to that UDA

cesspool of loneliness and treachery?”

“A million creds does a lot to reduce loneliness. A man can only serve

one master and I believe a million creds will release me from all my masters.

I am sorry, Celetain.”

“Don't do this -” John pulled Celetain back. Tears were streaming down

her face. Her shoulders were slumped with the weight of the knowledge that

her words, her misplaced trust in this UDA spy was responsible for the deaths

of thousands of tribals over the past few years. One of Celetain's Acolytes led

her down from the command area and led her to a seat. She wept.

John spoke softly, “What makes you think we won't scrap that ship,

Broge?”

“Because I don't think you, Weaver or Prax have the grit for that.

Stormseeker can't command it himself.”

Stormseeker slammed his fist down.

Kugan finger tapped the feed from their comp sets to Badger closed.

“It's simple. We scrap that ship, killing seven of our people, or we let him go

and lose initiative at Naanac.”

“Why can't the Tsimshian use the mother comp to command his

outrider ship back?” Wovoka asked.

 J. Scott Garibay 319

Kugan sighed, “Broge is using Celetain's codes and authorization under

his own voice. Tsimshian tri-jacks are working now to break Celetain’s code

walls. They estimate it will take ten to fifteen minutes. He'll be gone in less

than that. We can snipe him with a concentrated laser but that will kill the

Diegueño hostage. The Decimator has a hair trigger option I'm sure he's

using. We can have body tank warriors save the other six tribals on board

though.”

John opened the line again. “Broge, you served Celetain well. You were

a brother to all of us. Remember the harvest celebration? You laughed so

hard apple juice came out of your nose when those Tsimshian tried to join the

Corn Dance. I know you felt joy here among us. Please, brother, come back.

All you're returning to now is the destruction of your very self. Come back. No

one has been hurt beyond healing. We will accept you back as a brother who

has cleansed his heart of a sickness. Please, Broge, come back.”

Broge was shaking now. “No, I was never a brother. I am sick of every

Tom, Dick and Tonto asking me how I am, sharing every essence of my life,

expecting me to help and listen and share as if they were a part of my family.

I want money, raw cred to be wasted and squandered at my whim. Not

communal wampum. I want no obligations to help anyone but myself and I

want the faceless masses that will leave me alone. Now back off the fighter

or there will be blood. Comp, reduce vent O2 by fifty percent in the aft bridge

quarter.”

John turned. “Pull the fighters back.”

320 AmerIndian 2192

Stormseeker shook his head but did not countermand the order.

John frowned. “We're down to four minutes. What are the options?”

Stormseeker was silent for a moment. “We can disable the Kellion

Cannon on Badger and get the body tank troops in there. The Diegueño will

die. That's a viable option. If we don't handle this situation now we can still

try to take Naanac. It will simply take the lives of a few thousand more tribals

to do it.”

John shook his head, “No, Stormseeker. I am not trading one tribals’ life

now for a few thousand in the near future. We do not trade lives as currency.

That is what makes us different than the UDA.”

Broge came back in view. “I am two minutes from correspondence

jump. I want every fighter and outrider ship two thousand kilometers away

from this vessel in less than one minute or I kill the six and the Diegueño-”

Suddenly the Diegueño rose from her seat. Broge had to stand with

her. It happened quickly. Wovoka was the first to realize what was occurring.

“No! Don't do it!” he screamed. “We will-”

The Diegueño was already moving. She began to walk, staggering

aimlessly. Broge cursed at her “Sit down, I swear to…”

The Diegueño purposefully jerked her head forward.

The Sledge Decimator roared and the Diegueño’s head transformed

into a fine mist on the far inner hull section. The body dropped to the floor.
 J. Scott Garibay 321

Broge gaped at the Sledge Decimator, still taped to his hand but now free

from the Diegueño’s head. He was still gaping seconds later when two

Apache fighters raced in, firing concentrated lasers.

The concentrated lasers severed the aft bridge section down the center

of each airlock door. The aft section was sliced from the outrider ship like a

chunk of carrot cut out by a master chef. Four body tank warriors, their armor

gleaming from distant starlight, descended on the aft section carrying

airlines. The body tank warriors carefully inserted the airlines and handled

the aft bridge section like a mother cradling a child.

Twenty meters away another group of body tank warriors fell on the

Broge’s bridge section like wolves on a rabbit. One body tank warrior raised a

beam cutter and holed the severed airlock. The rest of the body tank

warriors waited with rail guns primed. The lead body tank warrior charged in

as vacuum blasted into the bridge section. He threw a yellow pack of plastic

at Broge. The pack hit him and exploded around him, enveloping Broge in a

translucent yellow bubble. Broge gasped in the bubble’s air, refilling his

lungs.

One of the body tank warriors at the severed airlock clacked his helmet

against another warriors. Yelling and pushing the warrior’s weapon down, he

made it clear to that despite what any of the body tank warriors wanted

Broge was going back to the lodge ship alive.

322 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka shook his head. It was an ugly end. All of the Elders were

struck by the brutality. Stormseeker put his arm around John's shoulder. “We

are at war. The flow of blood is only beginning. The first small payment for

the Homeland.”

Wovoka looked over his shoulder to see the two acolytes leading

Celetain out of the room. She was shaking with the force of her crying.

Wovoka clenched his fist. His face twisted in rage. He pulled Stormseeker

away from John. “That Diegueño will not die for nothing. We can take Naanac

with twenty thousand Apache and ten thousand Brule. Send out a general

announcement that no tribal is to set foot on any fighter or outrider ship in

the bays until we launch the invasion. If one footstep falls on a single

outrider ship that ship is to be automatically backed out of dock one

kilometer, decompressed and scrapped by lodge guns. Strip every Elder’s

code protocol until we are past the correspondence jump.”

Stormseeker stared at Wovoka for a moment, still not used to hearing

command decisions from this Infiltrator Pack Alpha. Stormseeker nodded and

headed off to execute his orders.

Keokuk rushed onto the deck and approached his brother. “I've got

three possible invasion plans from the Brule Tacticians. Start going over them

now so you-”

Wovoka raised a hand to Keokuk. “This isn't a ship battle, comp jockey.

I'll speak with the Brule Tacticians myself. What I need you to do is go take
 J. Scott Garibay 323

care of Celetain. She’s a wreck. She feels responsible for Broge. But I’m

going to need every Elder ready to work when we hit Naanac.”

“Her Acolytes are with her now.”

Wovoka shook his head, “They worship her. They won't be able to

console her or help her. See what you can do. Then go with Cavaho to Alpha

Grail and have him transfer command of twenty body tank warriors to

Cavaho.”

Keokuk opened his mouth. Wovoka told him with a look that he had

little time for discussion.

Keokuk and Cavaho headed toward Celetain's quarters. Auto-ladders

took them down twenty levels. Keokuk made his way through the tribals still

prepping the lodge ship for battle. The entrance to the quarters Celetain

used on the Apache lodge was obvious. Neon Cybershamanism symbols

crawled across the walls for five meters to either side of the large oak doors.

Two acolytes stood guard.

“I'm here with a message from Wovoka, White Buffalo, for Celetain.”

Keokuk said politely.

The Acolyte answered Keokuk as he glanced at Cavaho who stood still

and silent. “Allow me to speak with Sliver. He will decide if she is ready to

receive your message.” The Acolyte closed his eyes for a moment. “Sliver

says you may speak with Celetain - if you are cautious and brief.”
324 AmerIndian 2192

Keokuk looked at the Acolyte sideways. The Acolyte resumed his rigid

stance and his companion waved his hand at the huge oak door. It opened

inward slowly and smoothly without a hand being set on it. Keokuk was about

to address the Acolyte when Sliver appeared. He motioned for Keokuk and

Cavaho to enter.

The large circular room, twenty meters in diameter, ascended five

levels. The walls held thousands of books, mostly grimoires dealing with the

art and science of sorcery, witchcraft and Shamanism in hundreds of

variations. The center of the room was a ritual circle laid out in brilliantly

colored marble. A hard light display showing the nearest galaxies turned with

an eerie slowness near the ritual circle.

Celetain sat in a large mahogany chair. She was silent. Her gaze was

distant and tears streamed down her face. Three acolytes surrounded her.

One acolyte shook a smoking lantern. The smoke rolled out of the lantern

and created a luminescent orange haze. The other two acolytes chanted in

low voices. Celetain didn't seem to notice them.

Sliver turned to Keokuk, “I have never seen her lose control like this.

Please, speak to her. The invasion is pressing and we will need her

guidance.”

Keokuk stepped forward. “Celetain, I know you are in pain but you

must know that this is not your fault. There was nothing you could have

done.”
 J. Scott Garibay 325

Celetain’s eyes remained the same, distant and blank. “I could have

listened. Surely the Grandfathers warned me. They would not have allowed a

traitor to hear every casual thought I gave to Broge in confidence. They

warned me. I would not hear. I ask the Grandfather to show me the future. I

ask them to show me the past. But when they showed me the danger of the

present I would not see. The blood of thousands of tribals is on my hands. I

betrayed them with my mouth. Killed them with my tongue. Their deaths are

a coldness on my heart.”

Her voice cracked and tears rolled down her cheeks. She hugged

herself, showing weakness and fear.

Keokuk felt helpless, unable to help her. “As a Christian, I believe I

know that the ‘Grandfathers’ you speak to are actually demons. I believe

they are selective and cryptic when they speak to you. Am I right? Their

reasons will become-”

For a moment anger flashed across Celetain's face, then evaporated.

“No, they must have showed me. They would not-” Pain racked her and she

shook with grief. The acolytes and Keokuk stood still. One of the strongest

women of all the tribes now wept before them, broken. Keokuk started to

back away. His words could do no more.

Cavaho brushed past him, heading straight for Celetain. He knelt

before her. Even directly in front of her he could see that she did not see him.

Cavaho leaned forward and put his arms under hers and lifted her from the
326 AmerIndian 2192

chair. The two chanting acolytes gasped and scrambled forward. Cavaho

pulled Celetain up and hugged her tight, wrapping his arms around her with

force.

Celetain snapped out of her weeping and her arms flailed. She was

Celetain Prax, Elder Shaman, and no tribal had ever touched her without

consent. Both acolytes tried in vain to pull Cavaho off of her. Cavaho's arms

were like iron chords. Celetain began to have trouble breathing.

Keokuk could do no more than stare at the scene. The acolytes were

now shouting and one was hitting Cavaho’s back in desperation. Celetain’s

hurt was forgotten, replaced by fury. She began to kick at Cavaho’s shins.

Then she felt tears falling onto her chest. She felt one warm drop after the

other. Cavaho's face was now down at her neck and she released her tension

and put her face down near his. The acolytes continued to beat at Cavaho to

no avail. Cavaho, like a great tower, beaten only by the wind, stood fast.

When Celetain saw the tears streaming down the young man's face

she could not help herself. She wrapped her arms around him. Her feet

settled on the floor and the two fell into each other. The acolytes slowly

realized that Celetain no longer wished to be freed from Cavaho's grasp and

they stepped away. Cavaho held Celetain and she held him. Then abruptly

Cavaho straightened and looked into her eyes. Cavaho released her. Celetain

braced herself and remained standing, on her own.

 J. Scott Garibay 327

Cavaho met her gaze again for a moment and then turned. He walked

quickly toward the door. Cavaho was exiting the room when Celetain walked

forward to Keokuk. “Where is he going?”

Keokuk looked at her for a moment and replied, “To work.” With that

Keokuk turned and followed Cavaho.

Celetain stood, processing Cavaho’s action and Keokuk words. She had

known for a moment the hurt Cavaho carried with him every day. She also

knew the workload Wovoka's infiltrator pack had carried the last few years.

Celetain understood.

“Run the Bear and Fox Grimoire codes through the Tsimshian symbol

shaker. We have work to do.” The Acolytes hurried off at Celetain's

command, each with the knowledge that their leader was back.

Jaret pulled his jumpsuit off and hung it carefully in his gym locker. He

watched the sliding door to the locker area close behind the last soldier to

leave. He pulled soft black body armor out of the locker and donned it.

Pulling on armored gloves, he checked the time display on the back. Forty

seconds before the run began. He pulled a black mask over his scalp and

adjusted full-spectrum goggles into place. The light flexible suit of armor

could absorb up a moderate laser blast and even some types of hard case

ammunition. The suit bore no sigil and hid virtually every aspect of the suit's

wearer.
328 AmerIndian 2192

Jaret grabbed two Sledge Challengers from the locker and closed it. He

checked the energy clips and settings. The Challenger in his left was set on

full-auto laser fire. The challenger in his right was set to single fire mini-

grenade launch. He heard the locker room door swing open and he

maneuvered to the other side of the locker set. He listened and heard

someone in the locker room undressing.

Blink. The goggles flashed a clear picture of his surroundings and he

moved. Jaret exited the locker room and ran down the length of the pool. A

few soldiers were swimming. He ignored them and picked up speed. The gym

door slid open as he bolted through it and barreled down toward the brig. He

approached a soldier looking at him quizzically. Jaret toppled the soldier with

a fast armored forearm to the face. He fired the Challenger at a soldier ten

meters ahead. The soldier flopped as though all his bones had been

removed.

At speed Jaret crossed an intersection and fired concussion grenades in

one directions, sprayed laser fire in the other. He reached the entrance to the

brig and barked out the special codes he had arranged (using a complicated

task shield) through two of Lige's best coders.

Stepping to the side of the door Jaret avoided laser fire. He waited for

the first barrage to stop and rolled into the brig area with a deft somersault.

He sprayed the area liberally with laser fire. The energy clips emptied and

the Challengers automatically clicked over to the grenades, each dispensing

their eight grenade integral magazines as Jaret got to his feet. Laser fire
 J. Scott Garibay 329

blinked past him as he ran down the cell tunnel. He threw himself behind a

corner and slapped energy clips into both guns as fast as his gloved hands

would allow. As soon as both guns were go he threw himself back into the

hall firing full-auto again. Three blasts hit the suit and he saw the capacity

reading drop from ninety percent to fifty-four.

Jaret turned and ran, cutting a zigzag route through the halls to Alexa's

cell. He stopped, amplified his audio sensors and heard the clatter of boots.

He guessed they were two corners away.

Jaret spoke through the mask. “Beta Authorization. Open and wipe.

Lock to code - Gramma's Cookies.”

The door slid open and Jaret jumped into the cell commanding the door

to shut as he skidded to a stop. Alexa was at the terminal as usual and her

eyes widened as she saw the black armored figure race into the room. Jaret

placed the rifles on the floor and slapped two energy clips and two grenade

cylinders on the floor in front of Alexa.

“Load those,” he commanded. He pulled at the Velcro compartments

on the suit and removed three objects. The first was a cylinder three times

the width of Jaret's palm. He held it out at arms length and turned it so that

the bottom and top pointed at the ceiling and the floor. He clipped a button

with his gloved thumb and the device fired two lines of flexi-cord ending in

vibro grapples. The grapples drove deep into the plasteel of the floor and

ceiling.
330 AmerIndian 2192

Jaret stepped back from the taught line of flexi-cord now extending

vertically down the center of the room.

Alexa stood. “Jaret?” she asked sounding surprised.

“Yes, and I really need those Challengers loaded. Now.” She stepped

back and started loading the rifles awkwardly. “Are we escaping?”

Jaret talked while he worked. He set two rectangular boxes down on

the floor, each on one side of the flexi-cord. “No. You are escaping.”

“Where to?”

“Wherever the ship's navcomp takes you. I aimed it for earth. Did the

best I could, but I’m not a gator.”

Jaret snapped the boxes together around the side of the flexi-cord and

then spun them around the cord as an axis. They rolled smoothly. He

thumbed a button on the top of each box. Each box telescoped to triple its

original length.

“In thirty seconds you will be on your way home. I love you but I can't

go with you. Maybe we'll meet again. Hand me the Challengers.”

Alexa did as she was told. When he was holding them, she grabbed the

bottom of the mask and pulled it over his nose. He blinked at her and smiled.

She kissed him. “I love you. We will meet again.” She pulled the mask back

down.

“Hold onto my shoulders.” Alexa stepped behind Jaret and jumped

onto his back. He grabbed the flexi-cord and pulled their weight off the floor
 J. Scott Garibay 331

above the extended boxes. With his boot he tapped the left box and the two

extended boxes began to circle. A red light shone from beneath the end of

each box. Two concentrated lasers cut a circle in the floor. The circle dropped

smoothly crashing on the level below which had also been perfectly cut by

the concentrated laser. The circles dominoed down six levels.

Jaret slid down the flexi-cord following the circles as they popped out

beneath him. Alexa, clinging to Jaret, laughed as they dropped past a soldier

shaving, three soldiers huddled around a game table, a soldier dancing to

blaring music in his briefs and another lost to the world with a sation disk

plugged into his head. The two, clutched tight together, slammed to a stop

on top a pile of six flooring circles. Alexa almost lost her grip when Jaret

jumped down off the pile and dragged her to a grav lifter holding two

plasteel cases.

Jaret keyed the accelerator and the grav lifter pulled forward. “Open

the cases,” he yelled.

The lifter picked up speed. “You steer.” He let Alexa take the control

stick while he emptied his Challengers to the front and rear clearing the halls

of the few troopers foolish enough not to get out of the way. As the

Challengers emptied he threw them away from the grav lifter and pulled out

fully primed and loaded replacement from the cases. One hundred and fifty

meters, sixteen energy clips and twelve grenades later the grav lifter skidded

to a stop at the hangar bays. Jaret checked the countdown - thirty-three

seconds remaining.
332 AmerIndian 2192

Jumping off the grav lifter he pulled Alexa with him. He charged into

the hangar bay, currently empty due to a scheduled hull cleaning. Enola Gay

sat quietly on her moorings.

“Jump,” he shouted. She looked down. Five meters below a large cargo

door was open on the top of Enola Gay. She hesitated and he shouted again,

“Jump.” Alexa turned and jumped. She hit the top of the ship hard but

managed to roll over to the hole above the cargo section when she caught

her breath.

Jaret blasted two vidcams and ran to the other end of the hangar bay.

He dove into a large empty container at the start of a supply corridor. He

yanked the lid closed and waited in the dark as the last nine seconds ticked

by. Jaret could not see the events in the hangar bay that he had personally

orchestrated. He knew what each sound signified as the container was pulled

along tracks down the supply corridor.

The cargo bay shook with the force of Enola Gay's impulse thrusters.

The ion flames left red glowing blazes on the plasteel of the hangar bay. The

ship surged forward and it's Kellion Cannon fired at a point just five hundred

meters from Black Mariah.

Even the small amount of Black Mariah's gravitational field would

affect Enola Gay's correspondence jump. While Enola Gay's navcomp had

aimed at Earth it was likely the ship would end up galaxies away in any

direction but it would most likely be undamaged. Jaret had stocked the ship
 J. Scott Garibay 333

with six Nagaspheres for additional firings as well as a year’s worth of dry

rations. Much of the escape's success would rely on Alexa. Jaret had

downloaded piloting and astrogation training programs onto the ship's comp.

She would know enough in a few weeks to take the ship wherever she need

to go if she worked hard. There was also the remote possibility she would be

found by another ship.

Enola Gay gunned through the correspondence plane and was gone. A

massive wave of energy bounced back out of the correspondence plane

rolling Black Mariah twenty degrees, like a wave would rock a sea vessel.

Black Mariah's Nagasphere semi-breached and died in a contained implosion.

All of the ship's power winked off sending hundreds of soldiers scrambling for

pressure suits. Jaret’s empty container stopped moving when the power died.

Jaret kicked the crate open and pulled himself out. He activated low

light vision on the goggles and read the section number laser engraved on

the plasteel structure support near him. Hurriedly he pushed the empty

container, counting the structure beams he passed. He stopped at Sector 19-

G and pulled a panel out of the floor. He pulled his armor suit off and donned

his uniform, which had been underneath the panel. Jaret pulled out a

pressure suit and put it on over his uniform. He shoved the armor suit down

and replaced the panel.

Jaret heard a howl as vacuum raced toward him down the corridor. He

scrambled into the gunny tube above Sector 19-G and could hear the chaos

in the halls. He moved quickly toward the bridge.

334 AmerIndian 2192

Soon he dropped down into a low traffic hall and ran the rest of the

way to bridge. The bridge was blazing with halogen lights placed on top of

blank monitors. Lige was in the center of the room. Jaret recognized him by

the Admiral's sigil on both shoulders of his pressure suit. He made his way

through the bridge crew, who looked confused and busy.

Lige was editing a restoration plan on a gauntlet comp. Jaret joined the

group around the Admiral. “Men are going to pay for this with their lives,” he

hissed. “Did you capture the infiltrators?” Lige asked.

“I saw one man dart across a hall fifty meters from me. I followed but I

could not catch sight of him again.” Jaret lied. “How many were there?”
 J. Scott Garibay 335

CHAPTER 25

The lodge ships hit the correspondence plane and surged out six billion

light years away, heading toward Naanac. Jet Tigers swarmed out of Nez

Perce lodge ships, darting in sharp arcs toward the single satellite sensor

orbiting Naanac. The sensor satellite constantly logged traffic around the

planet (which was usually nil). Kill Spotted Horse had planned Wovoka’s first

entry into Naanac around the orbital path of the satellite. If a ship came

within five thousand klicks the satellite fired a message through a

correspondence plane back to Rowan Cartel headquarters near Earth. The

sensor satellite was fired on and destroyed by Jet Tigers well before any of

the AmerIndian Confederacy’s ships were within its range.

Wovoka stood in the command circle on board a Nez Perce lodge ship,

his words being carried to all the tribes simultaneously. “I come before you

asking you to accomplish a feat our people have failed to accomplish for

seven hundred years. I ask you to engage in the most hard-fought battle in

Native American history. Wounded Knee will be a small skirmish compared to

336 AmerIndian 2192

the war we are inviting with the UDA. Fear not, Brothers. Today we will win

and tomorrow we will win and the next day we will win. The Grandfathers

have foreseen this. We will slay the White Man and destroy what he has

wrought no matter how many men he throws at us. The Grandfathers will

protect us. The time is right for the purchase of a Homeland. The only

currency acceptable as payment is blood. For centuries we pretended that

land could be bought with credits. We wrangled in the twisted systems of the

White Man. Now we pay him the only currency he cannot refuse. Today we

pay with blood. Many of you will be slain. Each fallen will be honored as the

warriors that refused to forfeit, refused to settle for the scraps the White Man

laid out for us. Today, we take for our people a Homeland where we can live

in harmony with nature the way our ancestors did. I ask all of you to fight,

some to die and none to quit.”

Wovoka stood quietly for a moment. Potlatch Weaver's armor gleamed

and none looked away from the White Buffalo. Strangely, Wovoka felt

comfortable. He extended his arm and the body tank whirred.

“Let loose the dogs of war,” he cried. Tribals on every lodge ship

roared.

Wovoka grabbed a rivet gun and pushed off the platform. In zero-g he

floated to the top of the new chunnel, swiveling to land on his feet upside

down. Other tribals in construction pressure suits were guiding blasteel

 J. Scott Garibay 337

beams, twenty and fifty meters long, into place. He waited until a crew of six

Apaches placed a beam and began firing rivets into the beam at half-meter

intervals. He looked a little out of place in Potlatch Weaver's Classic Mako

body tank but Celetain had said visibility of the White Buffalo would be

important. She wanted the tribes to see him working alongside them. There

was much planning to be done, decisions to be made, but Wovoka agreed

with Celetain. The Elders needed him less than the tribals did.

Strong Apaches, used to working in pressure suits, worked quickly

around Wovoka but included him in their joking banter. “I hope you are a

better aim with a Decimator than you are with that rivet gun.” The Apaches

laughed at Wendigo's jibe. A young tribal came forward and showed Wovoka

how to hold the rivet gun horizontally so it would easily slide between the

rivet rails.

Construction in a pressure suit was a demanding task. The large tools

were not heavy due to zero-g but the work took concentration due to the

worker’s constantly changing orientation and environment. The Apache

construction packs were familiar with the challenge. They switched

orientation and swiveled at strange angles with ease. It seemed to Wovoka

that the Apache workers had forgotten that a single mistake with a tool could

kill in this environment. He realized the opposite was the case. The Apache

workers never forgot and worked through the difficulty with courage and

precision.
338 AmerIndian 2192

The Apache workers used soft pressure suits, allowing speed and

flexibility. A power tool could nick a pressure suit with the slightest touch.

The pressure suits were equipped with explo-foam packets. The small

packets of oxygen-laced foam quickly filled a pressure suit if decompression

occurred. The foam could be chewed to give the worker up to three minutes

of oxygen before suffocation started.

Often decompressions came with a rivet accidentally being fired

through a leg or arm. Cutting a bloody tribal out of an explo-foam filled

pressure suit was no easy task. While the Apache were safety conscious,

they drew the line at safety precautions that slowed work beyond what they

deemed a reasonable pace. A half dozen Apache tribals died each year in

construction accidents. No accidents had occurred today and Foreman

Wendigo was working hard to keep it that way.

The entrance to the new chunnel was finally completed. Fifty percent

larger than the rest of the chunnel would be, it was brightly illuminated with

extensive light rigs. Four Apache construction packs were busy installing a

Nagasphere to power the new chunnel's shields. A Nagasphere would be

placed every quarter kilometer along the chunnel cutting through the two-

kilometer thick Free Mantle. They would serve to power the chunnel’s force

fields or could be detonated remotely to destroy the chunnel if an

unauthorized entry was attempted.

While the Rowan chunnel had relied on a semi-flexible cage design that

bent and bounced boulders back away from the chunnel, the new AC chunnel
 J. Scott Garibay 339

would be rigid. The Tsimshian designed, Apache built chunnel would use

powerful force fields to keep boulders away from the structure. The powered

chunnel would use Nagaspheres quickly. (Tsimshian tech-jacks estimated a

Nagaspheres would be spent every eighteen hours.)

Wendigo finger tapped into the construction frequency every few

minutes to direct the Nagasphere installation packs around the work being

done by the riveting teams.

Every chief and every lodge ship captain was given the command

codes that would detonate the chunnel. Each lodge ship had to transmit a

pass code before a shuttle or outrider ship from that lodge ship could enter

the chunnel. If the pass code was not sent the chunnel would automatically

detonate as a ship passed the first section.

The size of the chunnel amazed Wovoka. The chunnel was two hundred

meters in diameter as opposed to the old chunnel's measurement of fifty

meters.

It was being built for Zeta class outrider ships, which could carry five

thousand passengers. It would take some time to get hundreds of thousands

of tribals down to the planet's surface. After heated debate, the Elders had

decided two thirds of the AmerIndian Confederacy would be allowed to live

on Naanac during the first year. The other third would have to man the 30

lodge ships, the 620 outrider ships and the 5,100 fighters that would still

need to be active in Naanac's orbit and beyond.

340 AmerIndian 2192

The first six-hour shift change came and the Apache and Brule packs

were efficiently replaced by new packs. Wovoka stayed and more than a few

tribals smiled at Wovoka’s endurance and dedication.

Elder John ducked his head and pulled himself into Keokuk's small

workstation. The doorway was large enough to allow easy entry to anyone

shorter than a meter and a half, but Keokuk had the top half meter of the

door blocked with an assortment of comp modules. Keokuk pulled his comp

set from his eyes, swiveled and stood as soon as he realized his visitor was

an Elder.

“No, no, please sit back down, Keokuk. I am in your domain now.” The

old man sat on a comp crate, for there were no other seats in the cramped

workspace. John looked Keokuk in the eye. “How long have you been

studying fleet battle tactics?”

Keokuk hesitated. The question told him clearly that John knew exactly

what had gone on between him and Wovoka at the Steel Circle battle. “Since

I graduated Elementals,” Keokuk answered.

“It was impressive work. You think fast.”

Keokuk sighed. “Thank you. I'm used to playing on my comp set. We

lost more than a few tribals in those deflector ships. I don't like having that

blood on my hands.”
 J. Scott Garibay 341

“We could have lost many more. You made the wisest choice,

considering. Actually it was your brother's command, not yours. You are quite

a bit smarter than your brother, aren't you?”

The question was direct and Keokuk was immediately uncomfortable.

“No, I am not smarter than Wovoka. Perhaps, I have more

imagination.”

John shifted slightly on the crate. “I looked at your record. You have

paved the road for your brother. You helped his pack get missions they would

otherwise have been passed up. Wolf Plume’s appointment to Jade Dagger

was your work. Why the help?”

“I haven't done anything for Wovoka that he wouldn't have done in a

little more time. He is a fantastic soldier, a strong leader.”

“But once again you are in his shadow. Now that shadow is longer and

darker than ever.”

Keokuk looked away from John. “Wovoka is where he belongs. Of

course, I am jealous. Is that what you want me to say? What does it matter?

My brother and I have struggled to maintain a civil relationship for years.”

John sat back, relaxed his posture. “I know that. I don't mean to press

you. I'm sorry. Frankly, Wovoka needs you now and the AmerIndian

Confederacy needs you to help him. I think you know that and it is why you

have given your brother a pass on some of the issues that are between you.

Thank you for that. Let’s talk about you now though. Your work is some of the
342 AmerIndian 2192

best in the AmerIndian Confederacy. But unlike your counterparts - Sliver,

Hammer, Gunsmoke - I see a quiet power in you. You can do much more than

you are doing now.”

Keokuk sat quietly, his discomfort growing.

John continued. “In a matter of hours there will be a decision that every

tribal will have to make. Whether to go make a home on Naanac or to stay

on the lodge ships and fight the difficult battles that will be required to

protect Naanac. I will admit your skill would be a tremendous help to those

who settle on Naanac. The tribals who go down will need imagination. But I

could use you more here. There is no doubt that I am going to lose Ela, my

assistant. She will want to build a home on Naanac with her husband. I want

you to fill that position.”

Keokuk leaned forward. “That's an interesting offer but frankly it might

be a step down for me. Chief Shakespeare has given me a significant amount

of control in Tsimshian matters. Also he has to routinely smooth feathers over

my choice to embrace Christianity.”

“I am fully aware of your Tsimshian influence. I assure you that serving

me will increase your influence in AmerIndian affairs. As for you

proselytizing, I am not comfortable with that. Christianity has always struck

me as intolerant and inflexible. Tribals have told me that when asked, you

will tell them flat out that they are going to hell unless they accept salvation

through Jesus Christ. I find that extremely judgmental. However, I am here

 J. Scott Garibay 343

because I think your strengths far outweigh your weaknesses. I am eager to

use your skills, in full knowledge of the problems I will have to deal with.

Think about my offer. I would like your decision when the chunnel is

completed.”

John rose, and Keokuk rose as well to help him out of the workspace. “I

will consider this offer, Elder Wisdom and I think you will find, in time, that

my Christianity is a strength, not a weakness.”

John stood before a large hard light display of Naanac. The Elders

surrounded him waiting for his words. Floating camera drones carried his

image and words to the other lodge ships. He touched the thousands of

shifting asteroids on the hard light display and the Free Mantle melted,

showing him the bleak grey surface of Naanac. “The distribution of sea and

land on Naanac is currently sixty-five percent water and thirty-five percent

land. At a comfortable population density there is enough land to support 9.6

million tribals, more than enough room for everyone.

“We are now faced with the task of finding equitable boundaries. In

accordance with the beliefs and practices of Native American ancestors, no

man or woman will ever own even a single meter of land on the Homeland.

Each tribal will have equal right and equal responsibility to every meter of

land on this world. Just as there will have to be boundaries established, so

that we can live in harmony with our natural surroundings, there will have to
344 AmerIndian 2192

be borders established so that tribes and tribals can live in harmony with

each other.

“The following proposal is set forward by a consensus, five of the nine

chiefs (including our newest chief, Vegas of the Clone Tribe). There are four

primary continents on Naanac, which we have renamed Windhome, the

Living Lands, Stonelake and Mother Crest. Windhome is the largest and the

driest of the continents and correspondingly the most hospitable to settlers.

There are forests suitable for hunting and short grass plains that the buffalo

herds can be reestablished on. It is also possible, though difficult, to grow

wheat on the plains.

“Windhome is to be divided. Half of the continent will remain

untouched for three centuries after settlement. Only hand-labor archeology

and hiking will be allowed in this area. The other half of Windhome is to be

divided between the Apache and the Kichai.

“As a new law to the AmerIndian Confederacy, no firearm of any type

will be allowed on Naanac, anywhere. Only one punishment will be applied to

any violator of this law, permanent banishment from Naanac and the

AmerIndian Confederacy.

“The environmental laws on Windhome will be moderate. Comps and

plastics will be allowed, but any waste from these units must be gathered

and disposed of off world. There will be three star ports on the continent and

electricity will be allowed.

 J. Scott Garibay 345

“The second continent, the Living Land, is the smallest of the

continents. It is covered with the densest jungle terrain found on the planet.

Dangerous predators inhabit it and agriculture will be difficult. However, the

biological composition of the Living Lands will be a powerful source of

healing herbs and totem resources. The Haida and the Brule will settle this

continent.

“The Living lands will be divided in half, the second half being

untouchable for two centuries. Comps will be allowed on this continent to

accommodate Cybershamanism but other synthetic materials not used for

research will be discouraged.

“The third largest of the continents is Stone Lake. This continent is a

flat black slate, upon which nothing will grow. On Stone Lake is a small four

hundred kilometer area that has annual snow. It is the only area of Naanac

that gets cold enough for snow during any part of the year. Full Tech will be

allowed on this continent and it is, accordingly, given to Zuni, the Tsimshian

and the Nez Perce. We trust them to control their waste and pollution.”

“The fourth and last continent,” the hard light display swiveled to the

continent as it centered forward to Elder John, “Mother Crest, is a large area

of peninsulas and islands laced by thousands of rivers. Fishing is plentiful and

the range of fish is considerable. Absolutely no tech will be allowed on this

continent. This continent is given to the Diegueño. Here they will restore the

Mustang herds and carefully introduce other endangered Earth species into

Naanac’s natural scape.

346 AmerIndian 2192

“If you are paying attention you will notice that the better the land you

are given the more you will share with others. The more challenge the land

offers, the more autonomy from the AmerIndian Confederacy those settlers

will have. We invite comments and questions from all tribals.” John became

silent.

“Quill, your question please.”

“And where is the land allocated for the clone tribe?”

A wicked grin crept across John's face. “The clones are the newest tribe

and therefore no land was allocated.” Murmurs could be heard coming from

the crowd. John continued, “The Clones have from now until the settlement

to choose any of the continents they wish to settle upon… The choice is

yours alone.”

Quill’s concerned look faded and he thanked the Elders and the chiefs.

The rest of the questions were handled easily, most being about

encroachment of one tribe, family or individual, on another’s boundaries or

borders. John explained those disputes would be handled as disputes were

handled now in the AmerIndian Confederacy. Investigation by a Solver would

be followed by decision by a Kichai judge. He also explained that individuals

would be allowed to move from continent to continent at will but would be

bound by all of that continent's laws while there.

John addressed the tribals again. “Every tribal has worked hard toward

this day, the acquisition of our Homeland. In accordance, every tribal has the
 J. Scott Garibay 347

right to settle on this planet. Each man, woman and child has the right to

decide if they will settle on Naanac. However, there will be war and we need

strong, quick, intelligent tribals to help defend this Homeland. We need two

hundred thousand tribals for defense. The rest will begin to settle the

Homeland. Each task will demand hard work. All of those who choose to

settle will no longer receive wampum. It will be unnecessary on Naanac.

Wampum for those who fight will be doubled.”

John fielded a few more questions, actually comments, from eager

young warriors anxious to let their parents and younger siblings settle while

they fought. The meeting closed and the tribals continued their work and

their celebrations with much discussion over the decision at hand. John was

confident that the strongest and most skilled warriors, pilots and jacks would

fight while the best teachers, preservationists, judges and builders would

settle.
348 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 26

The chunnel was going up fast and would be completed three hours

ahead of schedule. Wovoka earned many new friends and the tribes were

quickly warming to him. It was necessary. Soon the UDA fleets would arrive

at Naanac. Wovoka took a break and called together his pack on lodge ship

Iron Bow.

It was decided that Wolf Plume would continue to serve Wovoka, with

expanded duties.

Keokuk told the group about Elder John's offer and his decision to

accept. Wovoka then appointed Cavaho as his personal bodyguard. They all

agreed that Slow Turtle would settle. They would honor his death in the old

ways on Windhome, where his body would burn and scatter with the winds

across that land.

Wovoka reported to the battle circle. All of the Elders were there save

Kugan who was busy arranging the transport of two hundred thousand tribals
 J. Scott Garibay 349

off the lodge ships and onto Naanac’s surface. Morgan Weaver finger tapped

as he sat next to a hard light display. While the Apache and Brule had been

building the new chunnel, Zuni and Haida packs were searching and

scanning the planet to find where the Rowan inhabitants were now building

an exit chunnel. They had found it four hours ago with the help of Celetain's

Acolytes and were now working with Stormseeker to set up an effective

ambush.

Stormseeker briefed the rest of the Elders. “The Rowan construction

crews are 120 meters from the end of the Free Mantle. They will break

through to outer space in about another two hours if we let them. I have

Apache construction packs working in toward them now. The Apache

construction packs will be pulled out when they get close enough that

combat might occur. Wovoka will lead an Apache/Brule assault force to

accept the Rowan construction crew’s surrender.”

Keokuk sat next to John watching events through his comp set.

Wovoka's legendary body tank had a shoulder cam mounted and the comp

set view showed dozens of other body tank warriors standing around him.

Each had a rail gun menacingly leveled. Keokuk changed his camera feed to

the forward camera of the beta class outrider ship, Forgiveness, now

shooting along the outer edge of the Free Mantle. Wovoka and the body tank

warriors were waiting in the nose of the outrider ship.

350 AmerIndian 2192

Millions of rocks whipped by as Forgiveness arced toward the Rowan

chunnel point. Long distance probes showed the Rowan construction packs

pushing the last few boulders out of the chunnel's maw. The outrider ship

slowed and the pilot nosed the ship in, directly above the chunnel opening at

a penetrating angle.

The Rowan construction workers stared up in shock. They remained

motionless as the outrider ship edged forward slowly and the doors on the

nose rolled open. Body tank warriors boosted out and rounded up each of

three-dozen Rowan construction crew in seconds.

The Rowan construction crew was whisked into the ship. They were

spared the sight and sounds of the mini-rockets being launched from the

outrider ship to destroy the chunnel they had built.

Forgiveness reversed and headed back to the new chunnel. Eight other

outrider ships fell in line behind it. The line of outrider ships approached the

new AmerIndian Confederacy chunnel at speed. The ships burst out of the

inner edge of the Free Mantle and headed down to the Rowan Cartel Naanac

base courtyard.

The courtyard was a wide-open area used by Rowan researchers for

when all personnel needed to gather in one location. The other outrider ships

landed close to Forgiveness, all nine ships cramming into the courtyard. As

soon as the outrider ships locked landing gear, body tank warriors poured

out. The courtyard was a sea of armored warriors. A team of body tank
 J. Scott Garibay 351

warriors carrying a ram raced up to the huge blast doors of the cartel base.

Before their impact the doors rolled open and three men came out, their

hands held high. “We surrender the Rowan Cartel’s Naanac base and request

safe return to Earth.”

Wovoka made a quick gesture with his right hand. Eight body tank

warrior packs pushed past the surrendering group to begin ferreting out all of

the base's personnel and to determine if any traps had been laid. Wovoka

was not worried. It appeared there would be a bloodless invasion of Naanac

as Celetain had predicted.

Wovoka pulled off his helmet and walked forward. “An intelligent

executive decision. We will honor your request and transport your personnel

back to Earth. Which of you is in charge?”

A woman stepped forward. She was a thin, tall oriental and wore the

attractive chic dress of a rising business executive.

“Show me everything.” Wovoka said plainly.

The woman looked around at the men standing beside her.

Wovoka frowned. “If I cannot understand exactly what is being done

here then I will raze this base. Not one wall will connect to another.”

“I have full authority granted by Rowan Cartel to evacuate every

person off of this planet within the hour without any resistance to the

AmerIndian Confederacy if, and only if, we are allowed to remove all of our
352 AmerIndian 2192

equipment and data without any interference.” The woman stood tall and

waited for Wovoka's reply.

Wovoka handed his rail gun and helmet to Cavaho. “You are saying

that Rowan will evacuate everyone from Naanac without struggle if we

simply allow you to take your equipment and your research without any

interference?”

“That is correct.” The oriental woman did not smile.

“This planet is in the Periphery. Rowan does not have a right under

UDA law to lay claim to Naanac. Are you authorized by Rowan to waive any

and all Rowan claims to this planet; past, present and future if we allow you

to remove your equipment and research?”

“Yes.”

Wovoka smiled as the AmerIndian Confederacy gained a planet without

shedding a single drop of blood.

Keokuk pulled himself along the rails after Sliver. The two were deep in

the belly of the AmerIndian Confederacy's mother comp on board Tsimshian

lodge ship Grizzly King. Mother Comp was the most advanced comp the

AmerIndian Confederacy possessed. Four Tsimshian packs were now working

on code changes and hardware upgrades.

The task at hand, a perfectly orchestrated control grab of thirty UDA

television server gates, was daunting. Tsimshian packs would attempt to

 J. Scott Garibay 353

pirate all of the transmissions sent to all UDA colonies and outposts by

controlling the television server gates in Earth’s orbit. Once controlled,

pirated feeds would send a special message from the Elders directly to all

eight UDA colonies as well as all eight hundred outposts.

Billions of viewers would witness the message. The Elders were now

carefully crafting the message. Sliver handed Keokuk new memory bases.

Keokuk snapped out old bases and clicked in new ones without tools.

“What do you think it will be like, Keokuk. The Homeland, returning to

the ways of the true fathers?”

Keokuk slid a little farther and popped a few more bases. “I think it will

be paradise, Sliver. To see the buffalo run again. To hunt them and accept

their gift the way the true fathers did. I think it will be an incredible

opportunity. I think more than anything it will be an opportunity to relearn

what our people once knew.”

“Do you really think there will be a place on that world for tech-jacks

like you and me?”

“Honestly, I don't know what that place is now. It will take time to find

our place, to find where we belong.”

Sliver handed another module to Keokuk. “I will admit, when Celetain

told me that we would need your help in this whole process, I was not happy.

Most Christians I have known are Bible-thumping moralists. I appreciate the

sacrifices you are making to help the AmerIndian people. I know you are
354 AmerIndian 2192

supporting Wovoka in something you do not fully believe in. But why have

you turned your back on the religion of your people?”

“First, I do believe in the prophecies. I believe that Celetain routinely

speaks with demons and they have indeed told her the future. In the end, if

Celetain does not accept Jesus Christ as her savior, she will be apart from the

one true God and she will see what the spirits she has dealt with truly are. I

pray that will never happen. I am fully a Christian and fully a Native

American. I believe in Christianity because its three basic truths are clearer

and clearer to me as I grow. One. We separate ourselves from God by

sinning. Two. Jesus Christ was sent as the only acceptable sacrifice to

reconcile us with God. Three. God calls each and every man to accept his

Son’s sacrifice to pay for our sin so that he can make this one hundred years

of life we are given only the small starting dot on an endless line of joyful

existence with him.”

Sliver shook his head. “Well, I cannot reconcile worshiping a god that

lets this much suffering occur in the world. Oh, I have not forgotten what we

spoke about concerning Okala’s prophecy. I have asked Celetain to speak to

you personally about the White Buffalo banishment section, to explain the

section you are concerned about. Soon. Thanks for not upsetting Wovoka

with a non-issue.”

Keokuk snapped the last base in and the two rolled out again. Billy the

Kid and 8088 pulled the two to their feet. A group of tech-jacks sat to watch

the message over their comp sets. Keokuk finger tapped and took over
 J. Scott Garibay 355

remote command of their jury-rigged Kellion Cannon system, watching data

bubbles pop onto his view. Each Kellion Cannon in the system was aimed to

fire a tight arc-light beam at each television server gate in Earth's orbit.

Sliver started the countdown. “Tee minus five, four, three, two, one.”

Comp set views filled with the image of Elder John being beamed to

billion of UDA viewers. “Citizens, subjects of the UDA, I am John, Elder

Wisdom of the AmerIndian Confederacy. Today I announce a new era and a

time of celebration. The AmerIndian Confederacy today lays claim to the

ninth habitable planet, Naanac. At this moment,” the view split to show

camera feed of the sprawling campus on Windhome where over a hundred

thousand tribals were building homes on Naanac, “we lay claim to this land

as retribution and remuneration for the continents of North and South

America that were stolen from us seven hundred years ago. However, unlike

the inhuman slaughtering that wrested those continents on Earth from us,

this has been a bloodless acquisition. Not a single man, woman, or child has

been harmed in any way and not one of the people displaced claim Naanac

as a home. The Rowan Cartel has only used the planet as a research facility

and has agreed to find another location for their continued research.

“Again, I repeat, not a single drop of blood had been shed in this

acquisition. Not a single drop needs to be shed. The AmerIndian Confederacy

wants no more at this point than to live in peace on this planet. I warn the

UDA, however, that if our peaceful settlement of this planet is challenged

with military force, then blood will be shed. Obviously, our military strength is
356 AmerIndian 2192

weak compared to the military juggernaut the UDA has at its command.

However, our spiritual strength is unmatched throughout occupied space. If

we are challenged by military force we will invoke the Ghost Dance and

spiritual warfare will be waged on every UDA colony and outpost, the likes of

which has not been seen in six millennia.

“Every man, woman and child will suffer untold anguish. I urge you; I

beg you as a people, reign in your bloodthirsty UDA masters. Cry out to them

to not allow the spiritual holocaust that will be wrought if the sword is raised

against us. Do not allow them to gamble with your lives over one small

planet. A single floating rock in a cosmos that has an infinite number of

planets.”

Along the edges of the view, cryptic symbols scrolled. “As I speak to

you I also speak,” John pointed at the symbols, “to millions of AmerIndian

Confederacy sympathizers. Plans laid as far back as two decades ago are

now being executed. Our populace brothers will have many tasks to

complete. I urge you not to disturb their work, for the colony or outpost that

deters their efforts will be held specifically responsible and vengeance will be

visited upon it. In closing, I simply invite you to celebrate this event with us.

Let there be no anger between us. Peace to you all.”

The signal terminated. A cry of joy rose from the tech-jacks. Keokuk

found himself being backslapped and praised. He hugged Sliver as the

results column showed they had hit twenty-six of the thirty television server

gates. The rejoicing continued for a few minutes.

 J. Scott Garibay 357

Celetain's face appeared on all tribals comp sets, “You have reason to

rejoice, my children, for this is a momentous day. You also have reason to

weep for we have opened the floodgates and a river of blood flows toward

us.”

“I am telling you clearly, you cannot simply send the fleet. It is a trap.”

Lige sat back in his leather chair, fingers steepled.

Admiral Lathe rose. “Do not sit there smug, Lige. This shows you really

have never understood the AmerIndian Confederacy any better than the rest

of us. If you could defeat them we would not be dealing with an invasion

situation, would we? This is textbook simple. They have 30 lodge ships and

620 outrider ships. We have 7,000 prime ships. We send in 1,500 to destroy

all of the lodge ships. Once that is done, we build a chunnel, send down body

tank troops and imprison every one of those traitors. They have no way to

fight us successfully.”

Lige leaned forward, “The AmerIndian Confederacy does not make idle

threats.”

“So, Admiral Lige, you are saying we should delay routing these dogs

so they won’t shake a few shaman's rattles.”

“I believe we should give them seven days. It will give them a false

sense of security and allow time for us to gather intelligence on what ability

the AC has to execute the threats they made.”

358 AmerIndian 2192

Admiral Crane smiled. “Lige, we are all aware you took a hard defeat at

the Steel Circle location. It stands to reason you would be hesitant to face

battle again so soon.” The other admirals smirked at Crane's insult.

“However, we would be fools not to seize this moment; crush these pests

once and for all. We have failed to defeat them in the past because they are

nomadic. Like cockroaches they skitter to the far corners when the light is

turned on. Now, for only the second time in three decades, they are locked

down. They have people on Naanac. A large percentage of their ships will

have to stay to defend the planet. This time we can battle them to the last,

and that is exactly what we will do.”

Grand Admiral Ramus nodded in agreement. “A threat of spiritual

retaliation? We are men of science. We cannot allow the superstition-based

cries of the UDA people to sway us from what we know to be the wisest

course. I agree with Crane. We must strike now, hard and fast. I am

dispatching ten prime ships to each colony and one to each outpost to quell

any civil unrest. The remaining prime ships will be sent to Naanac. There will

be no chance of escape for even one lodge ship.”

Lige smiled again. “Grand Admiral, permission to speak freely.”

“Speak your mind, Lige, if it is not something you have already said.”

“This is not the wisest course of action. It is the simplest, most

predictable response. The AmerIndian Confederacy would not have settled

that planet if they were not ready to withstand this exact response. I have
 J. Scott Garibay 359

learned from my recent defeat that we cannot beat them by sheer number.

We must out maneuver and out think them. If you insist on this course of

action then I respectfully request that my fleet be assigned to garrison duty.”

“Answer me this, Lige. How? How will they defeat us outnumbered

twenty to one in ships without the ability to run?”

“I do not know, Grand Admiral.”

“Then you are pandering to your own fears, Lige. Afraid of a specter of

an enemy. I refuse your request. Your fleet will assist in the annihilation at

Naanac. You will be there because you need to be there. You are a military

leader and whatever has frightened you will go away once you have some

AmerIndian blood on your hands. Face your fears, Lige. You will see they are

unfounded.”

Lige bowed his head in acquiescence. The group broke and Lige lost no

time in shuttling back to Black Mariah. Even once he reached his ship, Lige

could feel the other admiral's eyes on his back. They were enjoying this

event. For once, Lige was on the outside. Grand Admiral Ramus and Admiral

Crane had mocked him without reservation. Lige did not waste his time

considering non-productive acts of revenge. He was sure the consequences

of the Grand Admiral's decision would be punishment enough.

Lige went to the bridge and took his position on the command dais.

The gator approached. “We have received the command to start navcomp
360 AmerIndian 2192

calculations for destination Naanac. All colony ships are running the numbers

now, Admiral.”

“Dump the calculations and begin calculating a course for Therhasa

A7.”

The gator nodded and headed off to carry out the command. Lige

slumped in his chair and thought. He would be in direct violation of the

Grand Admiral’s orders. Not an easy thing to side step later. He also knew he

could not afford to be at Naanac. The AmerIndian Confederacy's warning was

clear. His intelligence had already told him that Haida Cybershamans were

capable of incredible acts. Miraculous healing was not uncommon and there

were instances of clear prophecy. But the Haida had never produced an overt

magical act that amounted to direct military application. No one, according

to his intelligence, had ever been even harmed directly by Cybershamanism.

Lige pondered. He could not figure out how the AmerIndian

Confederacy planned to survive this situation. But he knew someone who did

know.

Wovoka walked out of the Rowan Cartel base and his eyes went to the

grey skies of Naanac. At a great distance in the sky Wovoka could see a

bright point of green. Like bees swarming from a nest, dozens of outrider

ships filled his view, firing retro-boosters to come to a smooth landing on

Naanac’s surface. Thousands of tribals were now in the courtyard and the
 J. Scott Garibay 361

celebration continued; shouting, dancing, singing, pyrotechnics. Wovoka

smiled as dozens of children crowded around him howling like wolves. He

laughed and howled along with them. It was a special moment and he felt a

strong desire to remember it. It was a beginning and an ending he knew.

Through his laughter he could feel tears forming in his eyes. What indeed

was he taking his people into?

362 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 27

2179 – Orbit of Colony Planet, White Earth

“Well played, Emerald Leaf. Well Played. Cut deep to center to

intercept Hoover wing coming in from the ceiling.” Potlatch Weaver, Elder

Creator of the AmerIndian Confederacy, stood tall, handsome and regal on

the bridge of outrider ship Dawn. Flanked by his two most skilled tacticians,

Potlatch Weaver led his forces to victory close at hand.

Barbed Ice traced his finger in the air and bright yellow target circles

highlighted three AmerIndian Confederacy outrider ships on each of their

comp sets. The three ships were now closing on the last vestiges of the once

mighty White Earth UDA garrison fleet. Even bolstered by four hundred

prime ships from the Earth Main fleet, UDA Admiral Crane had been unable

to beat back the sudden, devastating strike made by the AmerIndian

Confederacy assault fleet. “They are coming in too close. Have these three

outrider ships stay back a few moments longer and pound the UDA prime
 J. Scott Garibay 363

ships with their heavy rail guns.” Barbed Ice looked to his companion Dre

Doe for agreement. Dre Doe nodded.

Potlatch Weaver gave the command, seeing wisdom in their words,

lending his leadership to make their thoughts efficient action. A thousand

elements of success created and stolen by the AmerIndian Confederacy were

congealing at this point in time to make every tribals dream a reality. White

Earth would be the Homeland of the AmerIndian Confederacy. A Homeland

denied for seven centuries would be theirs again. The Elder Creator looked

on and struggled to contain premature joy. By all accounts the White Earth

UDA garrison fleet would be put down within the hour. Potlatch Weaver

refused to allow himself to be surprised when a Zuni messenger strode into

the bridge carrying dark words.

“Word from the convoy, Elder Creator.”

A stillness blanketed the room. The fact that the AmerIndian

Confederacy convoy had communicated with the assault fleet was evidence

that their secret haven had been found by the UDA. It was the only

possibility that would require the convoy to break the communication silence

that masked their location.

Potlatch did not look at the messenger. “The word, tribal?”

“A fleet of UDA prime ships has correspondence jumped within range

of the convoy. UDA Admiral Gavon Lige leads the fleet. With only thirty

outrider ships left behind the convoy is now at the Admiral Lige’s mercy. The
364 AmerIndian 2192

message convoy sent has video from Lige attached.” The messenger finger

tapped and Potlatch Weaver’s comp set view filled with Lige's visage.

“Potlatch Weaver, while you waged an ambush on White Earth I have

found your convoy. I hold the majority of the AmerIndian Confederacy’s

citizens captive. Before you receive this message I will have every child

transferred to one lodge ship. These children will be completely safe from

harm. All AmerIndian Confederacy personnel on all of the other lodge ships

are classified as terrorists and enemies of the UDA. If you do not cease your

assault on White Earth immediately and correspondence jump every outrider

ship to the location of the convoy for full surrender I will execute every

terrorist here. You have until six hundred hours, Earth time, to comply.”

The Elder Creator put his hands down onto the workstation close to

where he had been standing. His head ached and his stomach was a ribbon

of clenching snakes. This news was too much, too fast. In seconds, fifteen

years of labor and sacrifice vanished. Defeat handed to him by the one man

Potlatch Weaver had continually failed to defeat, Admiral Gavon Lige.

Potlatch Weaver steeled himself and stood straight. Dre Doe fired

numbers through his head. “It's 1620 hours now. If we start the navcomps

immediately we will be able to correspondence jump to the convoy in forty

minutes.”

Potlatch's fist clenched. “They are all dead already.” Barbed Ice and

Dre Doe froze as they listened to the Elder Creator. “Ferez Bear will not allow
 J. Scott Garibay 365

a single child to be taken from their mother. The convoy has, without a

doubt, attacked Lige's fleet already. They will be slaughtered.”

Other bridge pack members gathered round, including Dre Doe’s

assistant, Broge. Potlatch Weaver showed his anger, his heavy hand

slamming down at the workstation. “There is a UDA spy in our midst. It is the

only way that Lige could have learned the location. Half of the outrider ships

will stay to destroy the remains of the White Earth Garrison. Half of the

outrider ships will return to the convoy to avenge their deaths. Set the

navcomps running now. Ready my body tank. I will lead the ground assault

on White Earth myself.”

Tribals scrambled to make Potlatch Weaver's words action. Each knew

they were playing the end game and the advantage they enjoyed moments

ago was gone.

Potlatch went to his body tank. The Elder Creator took his time

donning the snow-white body tank crested with a golden eagle. He knew this

would be the last time he would ever wear the armor.

366 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 28

The large opponent flashed toward Cavaho sending a flurry of jabs and

short kicks that broke through his blocks. The opponent grabbed his wrist,

twisted and kicked Cavaho’s legs out from under him in smooth motion.

Cavaho slammed to the floor. Then instead of delivering a finishing blow, his

opponent extended a hand and helped Cavaho to his feet. Cavaho nodded in

approval of the tribals’ proper execution of today's extended jujitsu exercise.

He grabbed the young tribals shoulders and positioned him. He then

slowly echoed the movement, pausing for emphasis at the crucial points.

Cavaho snapped his fingers twice and the large group of tribals paired off

and began practicing the movements together. Cavaho walked around the

room, stopping tribals, correcting stance, speed or delivery by demonstrating

the proper execution himself. Cavaho held the classes for Brule Special

Forces whenever his Infiltrator team was in from a mission on the Brule lodge

ship. He typically had a turnout of fifty to a hundred tribals at the sessions.

 J. Scott Garibay 367

This was the third year Cavaho held a session when all of the tribes

were together and even with all the mayhem the gym was crammed to

capacity. As crammed as the room was the only sounds heard were low

grunts when someone hit the mat. Cavaho did not demand silence. His own

silence simply spread.

Cavaho cut the session off at an hour and a half. Many tribals came to

thank him. He nodded politely. A few made the mistake of asking him

questions, to which he simply stared at the asker until someone pulled them

away with whispered words. The gym emptied slowly. Cavaho had another

seventy minutes of kata to complete and he continued. Twenty or more

tribals watched him from the far wall of the gym.

He was stretching between a Judo kata and a Jeet Kun Do kata when

Sliver entered the gym. He glided forward, three acolytes in tow. He stopped

a few meters from Cavaho. Cavaho stopped stretching and looked at Sliver

waiting for him to state his business.

“Celetain Prax, Elder Shaman, requests your presence.”

Cavaho retained his blank, emotionless countenance. He nodded,

turned, and entered the locker room. When he came out of the sonic shower,

Keokuk was standing near his locker with Cavaho's dress whites.

Cavaho pulled on the snug, perfectly cut white pants, white shirt, and

the short cropped jacket fringed with short cut leather strings. He pulled on

the gleaming white boots and white leather gloves. Cavaho wrapped a white
368 AmerIndian 2192

bandanna around his bald head. He pulled the white leather jacket down. In

his dress whites not a single one of Cavaho's tattoos were visible. Keokuk

whistled mockingly.

Cavaho walked toward the door and gave Keokuk a powerful shove

that sent him crashing back into the lockers.

Cavaho presented himself to Sliver to be taken to Celetain Prax.

Cavaho's attire was appropriate for a meeting with an Elder. Sliver frowned.

He turned without a word and led Cavaho through the lodge ship. Sliver

entered Celetain’s quarters and led Cavaho to the center of the room.

Without explanation he and the three acolytes exited. Cavaho stood arrow

straight, waiting. He scanned the hundreds of paper volumes lining the walls.

The large oak double doors swung open evenly, soundlessly and

Cavaho watched as Celetain entered. She appeared different now, softer and

welcoming. Her smile was unusual and it took Cavaho a moment to take in

the rest of her in the beautiful hunter green dress she wore. It was a

contemporary version of a traditional Midwest tunic. Made of soft buckskin,

the dress was elegantly adorned with patterns of mica. Her soft moccasins

were also decorated with a rim of mica. It was the first time Cavaho had seen

Celetain in anything but her tight bodysuit Elder Shaman garb. Her hair was

down, long and dark as space itself. She walked casually down the steps. “At

ease, warrior.”
 J. Scott Garibay 369

With mechanical exactness Cavaho spread his legs to shoulder width

and placed his hands in front of him. She raised her hands to her mouth to

stifle a laugh. “Please, please, sit down, Cavaho.” She gestured toward a

plush couch.

Cavaho did not move. “It's all right, Cavaho. I called you here to simply

talk-,” she frowned, realizing the awkwardness of her statement. “Please sit

with me.”

Cavaho did not move.

Celetain looked away from him. She felt more foolish than she thought

she would have. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness the other day. The

position of Elder can be lonelier than I think most tribals know. It was the first

time I was embraced by a man since before my mother's death five years

ago. It was refreshing,” she said.

He stared a moment and then gave a slight nod as if acknowledging

the duty he had accomplished. His face remained blank, passive. For a

second she looked pained but it passed instantly and she stepped toward a

large hard light display. “I understand you are no stranger to loneliness

yourself.” She paced and Cavaho watched as her dress suddenly appeared

out of place, a flowered sheet draped over a tiger. “I read in your service

statement that your silence is a choice, that you choose not to speak

because you were spurned by your fiancé.” She circled back into his view
370 AmerIndian 2192

and locked her gaze on him. “You have not spoken a word for four years

because a woman left you?”

Celetain paused waiting for an answer. Cavaho's remained still.

“Answer me, warrior,” she snapped.

Cavaho did not breathe. No nod, no answer.

Celetain stepped directly in front of him. “I am an Elder of the

AmerIndian Confederacy to which you have pledged your complete

allegiance. Answer my question.”

Cavaho stared back hard but did not utter a syllable or give the

slightest nod.

“You have refused the direct request of an Elder. Now I suggest you

report to a contemplation cell to consider the results of your blatant, selfish

insolence.”

Cavaho shifted. His teeth were bared, his body tense. He broke away

and walked quickly, angrily toward the wall. His white boots clicked on the

marble. He reached the wall, hopped upward and pulled himself up five

shelves until he could reach a large red bound book. He dropped to the floor,

landing effortlessly. He stormed to her desk, threw the book down, and

scanned the pages quickly. With a motion almost too quick to see he drew a

knife from his boot. It whirled between his fingers a second before he

stabbed it into the book. He glared at her with anger and exited.
 J. Scott Garibay 371

Celetain watched him leave. She stood for a moment and ran her

fingers over her forehead and through her hair in exasperation. This had not

gone the way she had hoped. She walked over to her desk where Cavaho

had shown his unique method of highlighting text. She read carefully. The

book was a collection of poems by Ayo Kukri, “For when the light bathed me,

I knew my soul was desolate. How can I give that which I have destroyed?”

Celetain slumped into her chair. She was not sure how much time

passed before Sliver entered. He interrupted politely and went over several

tasks she needed to complete that morning. She asked him to bring a

change of clothes. She suddenly felt foolish in her dress. She donned her

comp set and keying bands and finger tapped. A roster for the contemplation

cells appeared. There were rarely more than ten tribals there. Only three

tribals were there now. A Brule who had assaulted his superior, Broge and

Cavaho. She closed her eyes but the text of the poem remained in her vision.

Derek’s brother burst into his room panting. “The Indians invaded a

planet, a colony kind of planet. They're going to put the spaceship fights on

the wall screens. Some Indian came on TV and said that Naanac now belongs

to them.”

Derek followed his brother to the viewing room. He stared at the wall

screens with the rest of his family. Unlike his mother and his siblings,

however, Derek paid attention the scrolling text fragments around the image
372 AmerIndian 2192

of Elder John. There. He saw it. Three symbols in specific order - Spear, Star,

Sparrow. Derek had to concentrate to follow the symbols, to make sure they

were in the correct order. Dozens of symbols flashed around the edge of the

video message. They were all gibberish to Derek, save these three. He

marveled at how Lucas had been able to weave these symbols into their

roleplaying game as rune spells.

Derek understood the message. He pulled himself from the wall

screen. It was time. For two years Lucas had told the group there would be a

time when the AmerIndian Confederacy would seize land from the UDA, then

war would come. Like a biblical prophet Lucas had told each of the youths to

be ready, to keep a go bag packed and accessible. Derek ran into his room.

Derek threw himself onto the ground and shoved his hand deep under

his bed, dragged out his go bag.

“What's matter, bigbo?”

Derek's brother Tommy was five. He would be the hardest to leave.

“No worries, Tommy. Why don't you go watch some more and call me

when you think they are going to start the spaceship fights? OK, little

buddy?”

Tommy jumped. “No, no, no, no. Mommy says we can watch with her.

Come watch with me and Mommy. Come watch.”

Derek's mind was racing. Lucas had told the group that the AmerIndian

Confederacy would probably hit White Earth two to three years from now.
 J. Scott Garibay 373

This was a surprise. Derek scrounged through the go bag to make sure

everything was packed. Until now the go bag had only been a symbol of

hope. When he walked out the door it would be everything in the world he

owned. He looked at Tommy and a tear rolled down his face.

“Why you cry, bigbo?”

Derek's face was now wet, but he laughed at Tommy's question, a

hiccupy wet laugh. He grabbed Tommy, kissed the top of his head and

hugged him close. “I love you, little buddy. I love you. Please don't forget

that.”

Derek calmed himself. Tommy looked frightened. “It's OK. It's OK,”

Derek said with a smile. “Bigbo just had a sad minute. Let's go watch with

Mommy.”

Derek let Tommy lead him to the view room. The whole family was

there, watching file footage of the White Earth Massacre on Triax Hard Core

News. Close graphic clips of infantry battle. A fast tribal threw down an

empty rifle and hacked at a UDA soldier with a hatchet. The screen froze with

the tribal holding the hatchet high over the UDA soldier. The image was then

rendered by comp graphics into a multicolored shimmering icon. Trailer

music cued in and the news snippet line slammed against the screen. “Red

Death Rising.” Derek shook his head. The rest of his family was too

enthralled to see the gesture.

374 AmerIndian 2192

A picture perfect blonde, no doubt a clone, came on-screen looking

serious as she read her prompts flawlessly. “Eleven years ago the UDA

engaged the AmerIndian Confederacy in one of the UDA’s bloodiest battle.

The AmerIndian Confederacy, then headed by Potlatch Weaver, assaulted

White Earth with four hundred outrider ships and twelve lodge ships. ‘Lodge

ships’ is the term used by the AmerIndian Confederacy for stolen colony

ships. Planet guns were used to destroy many of the lodge ships and outrider

ships. However, a barrage of concentrated laser fire laid down by AmerIndian

Confederacy ships destroyed all of White Earth's planet guns. The UDA traitor

who gave the location of the planet guns to the AmerIndian Confederacy has

never been identified. The AmerIndian Confederacy was poised to take White

Earth by a destroying the rest of the UDA ships, which had no ground

support.

“While half of the AmerIndian Confederacy fleet was assaulting White

Earth the other half was waiting in the Periphery until the right moment to

fire into the battle by correspondence plane. UDA Captain Lige, now Admiral

Lige, destroyed that half of the AmerIndian Confederacy fleet that was lying

in wait. When Lige informed AmerIndian Confederacy leader Potlatch Weaver

that he had destroyed half of their fleet he was so distraught that he

abandoned the assault on White Earth.

“Seventeen hundred UDA prime ships were destroyed by the

AmerIndian Confederacy at the White Earth Massacre. Lige's ships destroyed

 J. Scott Garibay 375

eleven lodge ships and sixty outrider ships in the periphery battle. Potlatch

Weaver was also killed trying to escape from White Earth.”

The wall screen showed three circles of chrome, each forty meters in

height. A monument to the dead. “Amazingly, the AmerIndian Confederacy

has grown to over four hundred thousand members over the last thirteen

years and now has a fleet of thirty stolen colony ships. While the population

of the AmerIndian Confederacy is still smaller than at the time of the White

Earth Massacre, many experts contend that today's Confederacy is far

deadlier than the force was thirteen years ago. The AmerIndian Confederacy

has grown in power and wealth by serving as a mercenary force. Their

soldiers have seen more battle than most UDA troops and the experts readily

admit the AmerIndian Confederacy tech-jacks are of a caliber unmatched in

the UDA. Sources report that an underground system of communication has

allowed the AmerIndian Confederacy to build a cadre of sympathizers on

almost every colony and outpost. Experts disagree on the exact number of

sympathizers, but put the number between fifty and three hundred million.

UDA military sources agree that we are at the brink of another significant

encounter with the AmerIndian Confederacy. A critical figure in all of this is

Admiral Gavon Lige. Sources reveal that Admiral Lige recently suffered a

defeat at the hands of the AmerIndian Confederacy Elder Council. Nine UDA

prime ships, and over seven hundred UDA soldiers were lost. Admiral Lige

will be commanding his fleet as they engage AmerIndian Confederacy forces

376 AmerIndian 2192

at Naanac. He will be one of nine admirals under the command of Grand

Admiral Ramus. We spoke to Ramus as he prepared for battle.”

The wall screen showed Ramus' gleaming smile. “The Elder Council of

the AC has made a major mistake. They believe the antics of a few tech-jacks

can stop the force of the UDA naval fleet. The tricks they used to devastate

Admiral Lige will not work again. We will vastly outnumber AC ships. The

Confederacy will submit.”

“What do you have to say about their threat of spiritual retaliation?”

“I am not frightened by the inane ramblings of witch doctors. Every

man can pray but the one who will walk off the battlefield alive is the one

who puts his faith in his own ability to win. If you will excuse me I have a

victory to secure.”

The reporter turned smiling. “If confidence is a weapon, Admiral Ramus

is packing a rail gun. We only hope he is right and has the ability to put down

the AmerIndian Confederacy without losing too many of our boys.”

The camera swept to a shot of marines loading Lawbringers. The wall

screen changed again and the image of a cold beer filled the view. “Heading

to the darkest corners of a distant galaxy? Near twelve hundred prime ships

filled with Earth's finest troops. We are with each one of you. So tonight and

every night we raise a glass to you and we are keeping a case cold for your

return. Budriller Beer salutes the UDA Navy.”

 J. Scott Garibay 377

Derek stood and brushed his hand over the manual control panel at the

rear of the room, shutting off the wall screens. The white room seemed dead

without the dancing lights.

Derek walked in front of the couch, facing his family. “I am leaving.”

His mother scrunched her face. “This is family viewing, Derek. Don't go

out now. And was it really necessary to turn off the walls for that.”

Derek breathed in. “I am leaving this family, this city, this outpost, this

galaxy. I love all of you and I will come back for you when I can. Mother, you

have sacrificed too much for that damn wall. You raised me to be strong

enough to escape. For that I thank you. The best thing you can do is put a

chair through every wall screen in this apartment.”

He leaned forward and kissed his mother's forehead. She stared at him

with her nose turned up as if she smelled something bad. He kissed his

brothers and sister. To Tommy he whispered, “Before you turn ten, learn to

read English, little buddy. It’s important.” With that he headed out of the

apartment. He slammed his grav board down and slid down the hall. As he

reached the door to the stairs, hopped off and stuck his hand on the panel.

The wall beeped and he looked down the hall before he entered the mag lift.

In front of the apartment he had lived in for sixteen years, he saw only

Tommy. Tommy stood tall and waved at his brother. Derek waved back with

the arm holding the grav board and dove into the stairwell. He was at the
378 AmerIndian 2192

nearest street level within a few minutes. He weaved through the crowd

quickly with his grav board and kept his eyes on the street.

He hailed a bikercab, one of the independents. He held up a silver

certified cred card. The hoverbiker was a dark Jamaican with no helmet,

dressed in every color of the rainbow. The certified cred card held five times

the amount the three-kilometer ride would cost. “The whole card is yours if

you get me to sector nineteen in less than fifteen minutes.” The biker looked

around. Traffic was getting heavy and the Biker realized something was going

on. The biker snatched at the card. Derek deftly pulled it back.

“Aye and Aye be dare in ten minutes. Time burning. Get on. Wha

happenin’?” The hoverbiker called over his shoulder as Derek strapped into

the plush passenger seat, “A new dawn my friend. A reversal of fortunes.”

The biker cursed something under his breath about the cryptic answer

and revved the large Hailey hoverbike out on to the street. They zipped

along between autocabs and private citizen cars for a block and then the

hoverbiker jerked the vehicle perpendicular. The hoverbike flew right over

the edge of the street and into the well between the massive building

structures. He gunned the engine to keep the hoverbike from dropping down

between the levels below. The hoverbiker turned his vehicle in tight circles

for a moment while looking down, watching. Then the hoverbike’s engine cut

off at the flick of his thumb and dropped level after level like a stone.
 J. Scott Garibay 379

The maneuver was highly illegal and as the bike plummeted sixty

levels it passed within twenty meters of two UDA police patrol cars. With

considerable skill the hoverbiker throttled his vehicle to a perfect stop at

level sixty-seven. In a flash the hoverbike was darting through street turns,

fast enough to lose a pro racer. The hoverbiker got Derek to sector nineteen

in less than four minutes. Derek gave him the card and thanked him.

Derek turned to see half his gamer friends waiting in a nearby parking

lot. A broad smile came to his face. He was happy, excited and hopeful. The

pack members were all holding go bags. Lucas smiled back at Derek. In an

hour he and his friends would rendezvous with a stolen prime ship. Derek

was going to live with a people he had only read about on a planet he had

never seen. He was going home.

Celetain observed the bustle of the Naanac AC base camp. Almost two

hundred thousand tribals were now on the surface of Naanac and more were

coming. They were utterly jubilant. Women and children danced joyously on

the soft damp ground. A light drizzle fell steadily but no one seemed to

notice. Celetain had much to do to prepare for the Ghost Dance. She shut off

the part of her mind still thinking of Cavaho. She had toyed with the idea of

“freeing” him. It was absurd. Contemplation cells were used voluntarily and

Celetain doubted ten men would be able to get Cavaho out of his cell.
380 AmerIndian 2192

The area being used for the AmerIndian Confederacy outrider ships to

drop settling tribals off was an expanse of mossy grass circled by huge grey

trees a kilometer away. At the end of the mossy expanse a wide high cliff

loomed over a vast, dense jungle. An outrider ship sat a few meters away

from the edge of the cliff, still in the clearing. The ship now served as a

platform for the work of both Haida and Tsimshian tribals who had prepared a

place of power for Celetain. Thick power lines snaked across every surface

with fat black modules interspersed across the ship’s surface. Force fields,

array collectors and several transmitters were linked into the ship’s server,

which was in constant communication with lodge ships and outrider ships

outside the Free Mantle. Keokuk had been involved in making sure the new

AmerIndian Confederacy chunnel was equipped with powerful burst

transmitters that could relay data from the Naanac’s surface to orbiting ships

and back. Runes were painted in neon across the unruly collection of tech.

Celetain started to climb to the top of the fifteen-meter high outrider

ship. Immediately nearby tribals hurried to assist her. She was carefully lifted

to the top. There she stood, quiet and still. Tribals near the ship turned to

watch her. A murmur passed through the crowd. Soon every tribal on the

field below was watching her.

Celetain's twelve acolytes moved quickly to disperse themselves at

equal intervals throughout the crowd spread out below Celetain. The Elder

Shaman threw her hands up straight, pointing to the rock filled sky. She

pulled her arms down and a bright rune, easily visible even in Naanac’s grey
 J. Scott Garibay 381

wet light, appeared outlining her movement. In harmony each of her acolytes

made the same gesture producing the same effect with different runes. The

crowed gasped and pockets of empty space blossomed around each acolyte.

Celetain spoke, without a comp set or nearby audio drones. Her voice

resonated from her position as well as the position of each Acolyte.

“Brothers, sisters. I call you to work once again. The defense of this

planet cannot be accomplished through military strength. Our fleet is

severely outnumbered by the UDA fleet. However, the time has come to

show the UDA our true power. The time of the reckoning, the time of blood.”

Celetain turned away from the crowd and stared across the jungle

terrain. When she turned again her green leather was gone. Her dark oak

colored skin changed. Her black raven hair changed. Celetain glowed white.

Three thousand tribals gathered at the Naanac touchdown point raised their

hands, shielding their eyes. The Elder Shaman's voice was changed now as

well. “I invoke the Ghost Dance. The UDA will not allow us peace and so the

Ghost Dance must commence until they attack. We culminate the dance

when the first wave of UDA laser fire on our ships. We will strike a deathblow

against the UDA that will not be forgotten for a millennium. I invoke the

Dance of Prophecy, foretold by the wise and tragic Wovoka, the Great Native

American hero our White Buffalo is named for. Know that once the dance

begins its pillars must stand until the culmination or until their sacrifice.”

With these words Celetain’s white glow disappeared and only her

hunter green leather showed as she crumbled, falling heavily to her knees.
382 AmerIndian 2192

Tribals swarmed to her, and also to each of the acolytes who also fell. The

tribals gently helped her up and offered her water, which she drank greedily.

Vegas, the Clone chief, was the first to begin organizing large groups of

tribals into circles. The first dance circle consisted of nine tribals, one

representing each tribe. At an interval of four meters another circle began.

Tribals lined up somberly. The older tribals knew what was starting. John was

now walking through the crowd stopping every now and then. At the seventh

dancer position, he moved tribals, putting the youngest and strongest into

pillar position.

The pillars were dancers who served as the spiritual support of the

Ghost Dance. Once the dance began the pillars would have to dance until all

of the power of the Ghost Dance was released or until the pillar died from

exhaustion. If the pillar died dancing, sacrificing their life, it intensified the

Ghost Dance. Celetain was prepared to absorb all of the power produced by

the dance, prepared to release the power when the moment came. Out of

the three thousand tribals still at the Naanac touchdown point, seven

hundred had taken position as dancers. One hundred lives dedicated to

dance until the rituals culmination or their own death from exhaustion. If

even one of the pillars chose to stop dancing, the Ghost Dance would fail.

John had chosen the pillars carefully.

Sliver's comp projections supplied Celetain confirmation of her theory

of the powers a Cybershamanism Ghost Dance would produce, but nothing

was certain. The Ghost Dance had not been attempted for the purpose of
 J. Scott Garibay 383

offense since Wounded Knee on Earth over four centuries ago. Never had the

Ghost Dance been attempted with so many tribals, or on any planet but

Earth.

The dance began and Celetain was pleased to find Naanac's energy

was easily drawn. A concern rose in her. Was it too easy to draw? The only

humans that had ever walked on this planet were a few hundred Rowan

Cartel personnel. Celetain had Wovoka conduct a thorough destruction of the

Rowan base. The Rowan personnel had packed up all of their research and

comps in a matter of hours. Wovoka worked with the same Apache crews

that built the new chunnel to tear down every laboratory, hangar and

building to the foundations with gravdozers and autohaulers. All of the

wreckage was then transported out of the new chunnel on shuttles. Celetain

could still feel the scars Rowan’s facilities left on Naanac, but the cleansing

by the White Buffalo working alongside the Apache would be enough to

purify the land.

Celetain was gambling the Ghost Dance would not build any significant

power in the first two hours. She estimated the dance would be primed at

eight to ten hours. At fourteen hours the Ghost Dance would begin to lose

power unless the pillar dancers were strong. It was now and hour and a half

after Elder John's announcement was sent out across the grid. Celetain

trusted Stormseeker's opinion that the UDA would respond between three

and eight hours after the announcement, if they responded at all. The Elder

Council was convinced the UDA would take the predictable action of
384 AmerIndian 2192

launching their fleets to quell the Naanac invasion, despite the AmerIndian

Confederacy’s warning.

Celetain adjusted her position on top of the outrider ship with the

assistance of a few tribals. She spread her arms high in the position of

Wambli, a position for drawing power she had used many times before. Sliver

stood beside her, holding a large circular drum that served as an input

device for the server of the ship Celetain stood upon. He struck the drum

once. A loud dull boom resonated from the drum as well as the drums held

by the other Acolytes spread throughout the dancers' circles.

The first circle of dancers, dressed in full regalia of black, grey and

white, changed the direction of their circling. A pillar dancer shrieked, a

sharp hawk cry that set the circle to faster dancing. They swayed and

dipped, spun and lunged their shoulders toward the ground. One of the

twelve Acolyte drums changed the beat and other drums flowed into its new

rhythm like streams joining a river. The second circle of dancers changed the

direction of its circling. Another drum and another boomed and new song

echoed across the plain with seven hundred tribals dancing and singing to its

powerful, deadly pattern.

Haida Cybershamans monitored the gathering power through comp

equipment Sliver had pioneered. A bright aura now surrounded Celetain. The

gleaming image of Wambli, the great eagle grandfather enveloped her.

Surrounding tribals gazed in amazement. Celetain pulled her concentration

in and willed herself to allow hours to pass continuing to draw power from
 J. Scott Garibay 385

the dancers, the pillars and Naanac. Suddenly Celetain began to think not

about gathering power but how she would control it.

In the fifth hour, the Ghost Dance was in full sway. Lightning arced from

the sky, grounding around the ship Celetain stood on. Immeasurable power

coursed through her and it frightened her. The Elder Shaman prayed the UDA

attack would come soon. Bright lightning arced from the center of the dance

circles, each ribbon of electricity licking at Celetain. Celetain could feel gates

being flung open. A tremendous force was being held in her mind, controlled

by Sliver’s code, and Celetain struggled to contain it, longed to unleash it

with a thought. Her body shook, convulsed with force. There could be hours

left before the attack came, she thought. She had to control the power,

contain it until the time of release. Sliver beat a syncopated rhythm and

adjusted the code to assist Celetain. She screamed as she realized she must

vent some of what she held or be torn apart physically. She concentrated.

Blinding white beams shot from thick jungle trees at the edge of the

plain. Wet limbs flew forward and beams of raw energy arced out of the

trees. Tribals screamed as they clamored to get away. The beams shot away,

each finding a target. Each beam plowed into a tribal, flinging them

randomly, knocking away other tribals with concussive force. The dancers

and pillars, entranced, conscious only of the dance, took no notice of the

event.

When the struck tribals landed the crowd swarmed around them. Each

of the tribals was burning with an intense white flame. The intense heat kept
386 AmerIndian 2192

the other tribals back. The flame consumed clothes and hair. After the flames

dissipated, the bodies appeared clean, no signs of burns or trauma. The heat

coming from the bodies kept the crowd away for a few minutes. When the

surrounding tribals could get near, they rushed forward with blankets. All of

the tribals struck by the energy beams had a pulse and were breathing but

they could not be brought back to consciousness.

 J. Scott Garibay 387

CHAPTER 29

“Challenge fleet, go ready.”

“Await command.”

“Demon fleet, go ready.”

“Await command.”

“Dream Nine fleet, go ready.”

“Await command.”

“Preston fleet, go ready.”

“Await command.”

Admiral Crane sat quietly for a moment. “Don't mean to disturb you,

Lige, but do you think your fleet will be ready any time soon?”

“Raven fleet, go ready.”

Admiral Crane smirked, “Lige, I have work to do. I know you specifically

requested not to be on this mission. I will grant your request to the best of
388 AmerIndian 2192

my ability. Keep your fleet back out of the way. Perhaps we can use your help

recovering salvage after the battle is done.”

Lige could here laughter on Crane's bridge. “I assure you my fleet will

be out of the way, Admiral Crane.”

“All fleets go on seven. On my mark,” Crane commanded.

The prime ships slowly floated forward and a light show rivaling the

Unity Day celebration occurred as hundreds of Kellion Cannons fired

together. The navcomps performed their function and all of Crane’s fleets,

save Lige’s, blinked to a point galaxies away. Crane’s fleets appeared near

Naanac like a dark wave over the horizon. Lige’s fleet appeared at Therhasa

7, location of outpost city Aston.

Wolf Plume sat at the helm of a one hundred sixty ton outrider ship,

pleased that Wovoka had not insisted on his service as a liaison immediately.

He watched in awe as more prime ships than he had seen in one location

snapped into view. He gave the order and six Jet Tiger fighters arced out of

his outrider ship, bolting toward the chunnel entrance. An incoming message

played over his comp set.

“AmerIndian Confederacy fleet, I, Admiral Crane of the UDA Navy,

declare your ships to be in overt violation of UDA periphery settlement laws.

We overwhelmingly outnumber your ships. Offer your surrender or we will

open fire in twenty seconds.”

 J. Scott Garibay 389

On twenty-four lodge ships thousands of tribals hurried to battle

stations. A line of AC deflector ships arced forward.

Wolf Plume finger tapped and opened a link to Admiral Crane's bridge.

“For the sake of your men I beg you to turn back. Please turn away.”

Craned laughed. “You should be begging for your life, fool. Main guns,

fire at will.”

Rain fell in torrents down the long shafts created by the block

buildings. Even eighty decks below the top of UDA outpost city Aston, flashes

of lightning cast long shadows. Lige walked close to the buildings, staying

away from the rain the wind blew toward him. Jaret shadowed Lige closely.

Both men wore unassuming garb. Dark grey overcoats with enough wear

that they did not look out of place in this area.

Oblivion was what the locals called it.

Six full levels given decades ago to the city's human waste. Sation was

a powerful force in Aston. A thousand immigrants arrived on the landing pads

of outpost city Aston everyday. Sation, virtual reality at its most addictive

and deadly, killed many of these new comers, however. Sation was now

entering its fifth decade in circulation and surpassed designer drugs as the

choice entertainment of the damned.

Sation was a video/audio system that sent its feed directly to the brain.

The user saw and felt everything the original recorder felt. Touch, smell,
390 AmerIndian 2192

sight, sound, taste. Sation junkies swore even emotions were felt as strong

and clear as the original recorder felt them. A person had to have a small

receiver port implanted in his or her skull to use the discs. Powerful antibiotic

gels controlled bleeding and insured the port remained clean. The user could

receive feed within three days of receiving the implant (which sold for fifty

creds).

Recording implants were incredibly expensive at a million creds or

more to create standard recordings and five million up for professional

quality. If a sation user stayed with the basic rental downloads of roller

coaster rides, sail boat afternoons and birthday parties then sation could be

enjoyed at leisure. However, supply of sation recordings of sex, crime and an

array of dangerous miscellaneous material grew each year, faster than the

addiction rate.

Crime recordings were popular and murder recordings were seeing a

comeback with young and old alike. Triax, the megacorp controlling sixty

percent of the sation market had been careful to make sure each sation disc

was programmed for one use only. Doubles and triples, sticks that allowed

two or three plays were not uncommon due to sales promotions by the

industry. Limitless rerun discs were valued in the thousands of creds and

were illegal. An industry of black market rerun discs was burgeoning. Nothing

killed sation addicts faster than rerun discs.

Lige and Jaret approached the center of Oblivion. Withered husks,

former husbands and daughters and taxpayers, shuffled past. Most could tell
 J. Scott Garibay 391

Jaret and Lige were not one of them. Lige and Jaret walked with their heads

level, not with their eyes down or averted. But that did not mean Lige and

Jaret were out of place. Predators, strange seekers, organ hunters and worse

often visited Oblivion.

One of the skeletons shambled up to Jaret. “Disc trade. Disc trade.” He

coughed and stared at his bloody phlegm spackling the street.

While sation did nothing to actually physically damage the body or

brain, sation junkies neglected food in its pursuit. The man pulled himself

away from the phlegm and stared at Jaret anxiously waiting for his answer.

Lige stepped forward and produced a sation disc. In the dim light the junkie

recognized the silver hue. “A tri-tri-tri-tri-”

Lige smiled. “A triple, my good man. Yours if you tell me what I need to

know.”

The skeleton nodded his head continuously. He would tell Lige

anything, anything at all. “I am looking for a man, older, in his fifties. Long

grey hair that he keeps tucked under a baseball cap. He goes by ‘Walden’.”

The skeleton twitched and appeared to be straining to think. “Oh, yes,

yes, yes. I know him. He, he, he, he, he, “ The thin man broke into

uncontrolled laughter. His eyes never left the sation disc.

Lige glanced at Jaret. Both of them smelled the skeleton's nervousness.

Jaret moved like a cobra and was standing over the junkie with a pistol

pressed hard against his lips.

392 AmerIndian 2192

Lige spoke softly. “If you are lying I want you to tell me now. If I think

for even a moment you are not telling me the truth my assistant will put a

laser through you skull and we will find another sation enthusiast to bargain

with. Do you know the man I described?”

The junkie was still and quiet. He moved his head slightly. “No.”

“It was wise of you to tell the truth.” Jaret released the man.

“I, I, I, I, I, I know who would know him.”

Lige arched an eyebrow.

The junkie spoke quickly, “Gordon. Gordon the Scribbler would know.

He knows everyone here.”

“Who is Gordon the Scribbler?”

“He is an, an, an, an, an, artist. Beauty in Oblivion. His art is the only

beauty in Oblivion.”

“Take us to him,” Lige said.

The junkie scrambled to his feet. He lurched from a powerful rack that

nearly bent him over. When the shake was done his hand shot out and he

hissed desperately. “The triple.”

Lige handed the sation disc to Jaret. “After I have spoken with Gordon

the Scribbler, it will be yours. Let's go.”

The junkie tried to turn, to lead them, but his body shook again. He fell

to his knees. Jaret could tell the junkie was in the last stages of the addiction.
 J. Scott Garibay 393

He probably had not eaten in days and yet all he craved was sation. Jaret

bent and slotted the disc into the junkie’s port and waited for him to finish

experiencing it. With considerable effort the junkie pulled himself to his feet

when it was done and thanked Lige. He led them.

The two followed his bony frame along the refuse-littered streets. Few

of the city lights remained operative. Jaret and Lige were careful stepping

over various hunks of trash; autocab parts, and at one point, what appeared

to be a corpse. The junkie stopped them and advised, “Hold your shank, this

is cannibal territory.”

Six blocks deeper into Oblivion's center they came to the entrance of

what appeared to have once been a movie theater. The Junkie led them

through an abandoned lobby and pushed against a door at the far end. At its

opening, bright neon patches of light escaped. They entered the brightly lit

room.

The room held no furniture, just large racks of black lights pointed at

the walls. There were perhaps forty people in the room. Most were gathered

in groups of six or seven around large pots of stew. They dipped bread in the

stew and ate hungrily. All appeared to be sation addicts like the skeleton,

most in slightly better condition. One did not appear to be a junkie. A broad

shouldered man turned away from a painting. He turned off his paint gun, set

it down and approached the three.

394 AmerIndian 2192

“Welcome, friends, to the Shrine of Vishnu's Lion. Good to see you

again, Poitra.” The man was young; twenty-five, no older. Jaret noticed he

wore paint-splattered overalls, a shirt and a holster slung by a loose belt

around his waist. A Nixto Lance, an expensive laser pistol favored by quick

draw artists, filled the holster. Jaret was not sure if the weapon was a boastful

choice or if the young man was actually proficient with. The belt was rigged

and slung at the correct angle.

“Who are your friends?” the young man asked the junkie skeleton.

“Th-th-th-th-”

Lige interrupted, “I am Admiral Gavon Lige and this is my agent, Jaret

Tucker.”

The young man paused and extended his hand.

“I am Gordon, Guru of Vishnu's Lion. This is the Shrine I man. You are

welcome to partake of dinner with us.”

“We are here to find a man. Older, perhaps fifty, long grey hair that he

keeps tucked under a baseball cap. He goes by the name ‘Walden’. Do you

know him?”

Gordon answered, “Yes.”

Lige waited for Gordon to add more but he did not. “Where might I find

him?”

“Why are you looking for him?”

 J. Scott Garibay 395

Lige smiled. “It is a private matter, but I assure you we mean him no

harm.”

“A private matter?” Gordon smiled back at Lige. “Everything in Oblivion

is a private matter. I will have an opportunity to see Walden soon. I will ask

him if he wishes to see you. If he does, you can meet him the day after

tomorrow, here.”

Lige stepped forward, in front of Jaret. “That is a kind offer but we need

to see him immediately. Tell me where to find him and we will trouble you no

more.”

Gordon backed up a step and his hand moved toward the pistol slightly.

“No.”

Again Lige waited for Gordon to say more. He did not. Silence

gathered. “I have come here with only my aide so this man could be

retrieved without violence. If you do not tell me where to find him, I will call

down twenty UDA body tank troops. They will cut through the human chaff of

Oblivion like a farmer reaping wheat until they find him. If your intent is to

help these people, you will tell me where to find Walden.”

Gordon's hand was angled at his side, a spring pulled taught. His eyes

flicked from Jaret to Lige. “I could kill you both before your hand was a

decimeter from your gun but it would only hurt these innocents. I will tell you

where to find Walden on these conditions. No one in Oblivion is harmed. You

will not harm Walden. And you give us a Nagasphere.”

396 AmerIndian 2192

Lige chuckled, “Why on prime planet Earth would I give you a

Nagasphere?”

“Because to you it is nothing more than a signature on a requisition

form. To us it would be heat, electricity, and power. And if you do not agree

to these terms, one if not both of you will be dead at the end of this

conversation.”

Silence, as Lige thought over the proposition. “I agree to your terms.

Where is Walden?”

Gordon relaxed, his hand moving away from the Nixto Lance. “Follow

the street west for six more sectors. Climb the abandoned mag lift down two

levels. Take the light traffic ally one sector right. He has a crate of a hover

cycle there that he calls home.”

Lige turned immediately and started heading for the door. Jaret

followed.

“When will I get the Nagasphere?” Gordon called.

Lige did not stop walking or turn his head. “I'm not sure how long it

takes to ship a Nagasphere to hell.”

Jaret was already wheeling, his pistol drawn. He fired twice; one laser

hitting Gordon’s left cheek, the other carving out a section of his ribs. Not

before Gordon's pistol danced out of its holster. Gordon was able to fire one

shot before he fell, lifeless, to the floor. The laser sliced into Jaret's stomach.

He folded and fell to the floor as well. The junkies rose to their feet.
 J. Scott Garibay 397

Lige ran back to Jaret and knelt next to him. With one hand he checked

Jaret's neck for a pulse and was relieved to find one. He released and

grabbed the Sledge Justice from his shoulder holster. Lige clicked the weapon

on and it hummed. He started firing at the junkies closest to the door first

and walked the fire arc around. Dense, fast laser fire erupted from the

weapon. Death blossomed everywhere he pointed.

Lige used half the energy clip before he had swept the room clean of

everyone but himself and Jaret. He placed the weapon down and pulled his

gloves off. He retrieved a stim patch and pulled Jaret's shirt out. He shoved

his hand under the body armor and applied the stim patch. Lige could feel

the heat of Jaret's wound as he pulled him to a sitting position.

Jaret's eyes fluttered. The drugs hit and he was conscious. Jaret's eyes

flashed to both sides. He saw the bodies. “Are you all right, Admiral?” he

asked in a worried tone.

“I'm fine, Jaret. How are you?” When Jaret moved he realized the

location of the wound. He closed his eyes as the intense pain cut through the

powerful stimulant. Lige sat with him for a moment, scanning the room for

movement.

Jaret breathed, “OK, I think I am ready to move.” He rose slowly and

followed Lige. Jaret understood that for the next three hours he would

perform as if he had no injury, for three days after that he would be bed

ridden, probably unable to move.

398 AmerIndian 2192

The two followed the directions Gordon had given. As they made their

way they passed shaking junkies trying hard to sleep, hoping for a brief

escape from the hunger. Lige took the precaution of tying two meters of flexi-

cord around both their waists before they climbed down the two levels on the

mag lift rails. Jaret had no trouble thanks to the drugs coursing through his

system.

Lige took a moment to brutally beat another junkie that attempted to

trade with them. Jaret could tell Lige was anxious. Both men stopped when

they saw the logo of Hailey Hovercycles as it was briefly revealed in the flash

of sporadically blinking streetlight. Jaret drew his sidearm.

Lige drew the ratty cloth back from the entrance of the crate and saw

what appeared to be legs covered by a filthy plastic sheet. He poked his

head in and confirmed the person in the crate was asleep. Lige hauled the

body up and out of the crate. He stood as the man flailed his arms, searching

for a weapon that was still in the crate. Lige gave the man a powerful kick to

the stomach. The man heaved a dry cough and stopped flailing.

Lying on his back, the man stared up at the two. When his eyes opened

his forehead wrinkled in recognition. “Lige, you twisted fragger. You still have

nothing better to do than to torment 'Injuns'. I was hoping the AC would have

Custer'ed you by now.”

“Oh, no old man. You know I enjoy my work. I need your help.”

The old man shook his head slowly contemplating his misfortune.
 J. Scott Garibay 399

“You know this tribal?” Jaret asked.

“Of course I know him,” Lige laughed. “My most revered enemy,

responsible for the death of thousands of UDA soldiers. I am surprised you

don’t recognize Potlatch Weaver, father of the AmerIndian Confederacy.”

Near the cliffs, Haida tribals set up healing tents. The crowd turned

their eyes back to Celetain. She appeared serene, her arms outstretched

without effort as if she had been holding them up for five minutes, rather

than five hours. Tribals entered the dance, relieving older dancers and being

careful not to disturb any of the pillars, embracing those they relieved before

rolling into the rhythm. The pillars danced uninterrupted and alone.

Towanqua, a pillar in the seventh circle danced furiously. Sweat poured

off him. He danced without reserve, feeling urgency. When he saw Celetain’s

visage, an earth-locked angel, he danced harder. He felt the gathering power

and his clone brothers in his circle set their pace to his. Before long he was

heaving and choking, desperately trying to pull air into his lungs. Even as he

coughed blood onto the wet ground he pushed harder, forcing himself past

the pain, past the boundaries his body insisted upon. He jerked and his body

moved slower, jauntily as if strings suspended him. He bobbed a few more

steps before slumping to the ground. Tribals from around the dance ran in to

replace those close to Towanqua who had stopped dancing. They backed

away from his corpse, fearing and revering his sacrifice.

400 AmerIndian 2192

Celetain's body went rigid as her held power doubled. Sliver beat

frantically at his drum. Sweat poured from his brow. Now stronger, Celetain

fought the urge to vent again, able to hold the power. Towanqua was the first

pillar to fall that day. Three more would follow in the next few minutes. A

Kichai weapons procurer, a Tsimshian soft-jack and an Apache sniper. By the

seventh hour when Jet Tigers streaked through the chunnel, Celetain Prax,

Elder Shaman of the AmerIndian Confederacy, held more power than any

shaman had ever possessed.

The fighter itself was not visible but the brilliant lance of sequenced

light it stretched for ten kilometers behind it was visible to every tribal on the

ground. The signal declared that Naanac was under attack by the UDA and

the Ghost Dance must be culminated, the power released.

Celetain was absorbed; holding the power the Ghost Dance had

gathered. Sliver put his drum down, stood and pushed into the hard light

corona surrounding her. He shouted, “Release, release.” Sliver pushed

himself back out. Celetain's eyes were closed and he could not tell if she had

heard him or not. Her eyes opened wide again, but it was clear she was

looking at something beyond this world. She spoke and out of her mouth

came the voice of a Grandfather.

“The end has come and your dance has been earnest and true. Finish

well now, the release has come.”

 J. Scott Garibay 401

The chant grew louder. Pillar and dancers, all beaten and worn, surged

hard, dozens dropped dead of exhaustion and Celetain gathered all that they

offered. The light around Celetain increased and her far off gaze shifted. Her

eyes darted from Sliver to the Acolytes in the dancers’ circles. She was

frightened and it could be seen clearly on her face. Her arms remained up as

her body twitched. She was wracked with some unknown pain. Sliver turned

away, unable to witness her suffering. He knew helping her he would destroy

everything she had endured to produce. Her body spasmed and she was free

of the power. A tired, resigned look came across her face.

Initially, there was no sign of what had occurred. Suddenly, a wave of

energy shot out from her in every direction. Every tribal surrounding Celetain

was pushed off their feet and thrown two meters. Ripples of light blue energy

were apparent as the wave hit the Free Mantle and continued. Laser fire,

missiles and mayhem reigned across the outer space of Naanac. The wave

hit the AmerIndian Confederacy lodge and outrider ships first and fighters

were tilted by the wave. Every ship blacked out as power from Nagaspheres

vanished in an instant. The wave plowed into the UDA ships and there it

slowed. Red sparks and lightening shot off the surface of each UDA ship and

vessel.

When the wave had passed over each ship it continued to spread in

every direction at the speed of spirit carrying the blackness with it, shutting

down every fusion and electrical power source on every UDA colony and

every UDA outpost. In one last quick and frightening visual, billions of UDA
402 AmerIndian 2192

citizens watched on their wall screens as the UDA ships blinked into darkness

seconds before the same darkness passed over their home. On each of the

eight UDA colonies and all eight hundred outposts chaos erupted. Billions

scrambled for pressure suits. The few who had weapons readied them. UDA

citizens did not know they had received only the least of the Ghost Dance's

effect.
 J. Scott Garibay 403

CHAPTER 30

Wolf Plume locked his body tank. Air swooshed in and out of the suit as

it pressurized. With no power in the outrider ship every tribal had less than

six minutes to get into a pressure suit or body tank. No life support was

running. Wolf Plume’s comp set, drawing power from the body tanks

individual power source, was already squawking with orders from the ship’s

pack alphas. Wolf Plume cut into the line. “All wrench monkeys scramble to

power up positions, tech-jacks assist as needed. We have got to get the

shields back up or we're scrapped. Hustle, Hustle.”

Wolf Plume felt the ship. It was a skill he had learned over decades of

piloting. All power was down, no server fed ship status data to his comp set,

and yet Wolf Plume knew no lasers played across the hull. He knew the

hangars were quiet; no fighters darted in or out. He could feel it. Wolf Plume

commanded silence on the communications line, “This is Wolf Plume.

Turquoise Dragon Pack, leave post and take the repair chutes to the outer

hull. I need a visual report ASAP.”

404 AmerIndian 2192

Tribals around him moved. Wolf Plume stood silent listening only for

the report. He had a suspicion of what was going on but he needed

confirmation. “Wolf Plume, this is Crystal Branch, Turquoise Dragon Alpha.

Visual report. No ships visible. It appears everything is power down. Every

lodge ship, prime ship, outrider ship, fighter, UDA and Confederacy. All

powered down. Black as night.”

Wolf Plume subconsciously put his hand up to stroke his beard. The

plastic of his glove touched artificially to the glasteel of his helmet. He shook

his head in slight frustration. “It's a race, drooks, whoever gets power up first

gets to carve their opponent. Load the solar sail ship up with body tank

warriors and launch her manually out from the lower bay. Once under way

target the Delta grade UDA prime ships. Go. Go. Go. I want launch in three

minutes.”

A palpable tension fell. Wolf Plume could tell many, perhaps most, of

the tribals on his outrider ship were frightened. Why were the Nagaspheres

powered down? Why had the Ghost Dance hit the AmerIndian Confederacy

ships as well as the UDA ships? Had the Ghost Dance done nothing more

than set the tribals up for a sound defeat? Were they on cusp of a second

White Earth Massacre?

Able to traverse the two hundred and twenty kilometers between Wolf

Plume's outrider ship and the closest UDA prime ship in less than an hour
 J. Scott Garibay 405

and a half, the solar ship made good time. It used no other fuel than the

starlight shining on its sails. Autumn Sky, an experienced body tank warrior,

stood poised before the solar ship’s open airlock. The airlock of the UDA

prime ship they were connecting to was wide open.

Autumn Sky sensed something was terribly wrong. The airlock being

open was wrong. The solar ship reaching the UDA prime ship without conflict

was wrong. There should have been some response from the UDA soldiers by

now. She leveled her Sledge Violator toward the airlock. The two body tank

troops strained their mobile armor.

Autumn Sky opened fire into the dark hole. Her pack took her lead and

rained laser fire in as well. The pack continued firing until Autumn Sky heard

the beep signaling a quarter of her e-clip had been emptied and ordered

cease-fire.

Laser fire died and the body tank pack moved forward. Autumn Sky

was surprised her pack had not been pummeled by return enemy fire. She

wasted no time feeling foolish for the wasted ammunition and e-clip charges

pocking the far wall. Fortunately, the hull of the UDA ship had not been

breached. Autumn Sky circled her hand above her head and pointed forward

signaling the pack to follow her into the dark halls of the UDA prime ship.

Autumn Sky pushed off into the zero-g of the UDA prime ship and led her

pack down a hall until they approached open heavy blast doors.
406 AmerIndian 2192

Autumn Sky's Second, Clipper, broke silence. “By standard UDA ship

blueprints this next room should be level headquarters. A right turn here will

lead us to small weapon holds.” Autumn Sky pushed off a nearby wall and

entered the level headquarters. The pack moved in unison to the side of the

door and waited for fire that did not come. The room was dark and only the

starlight optics on her comp set allowed her to see. The room was full of UDA

soldiers. Their corpses floated silently.

Clipper answered Autumn Sky's question before she asked it. “Clear

line, sapphire spread, Alpha. Sensors confirm all UDA soldiers in this room

are dead.”

Further investigation showed that every airlock on the ship had been

opened simultaneously. The Ghost Dance had killed every UDA soldier on the

ship. Autumn Sky used a shotgun communications unit on the solar ship to

beam the information back to a temporary receiver bolted to the exterior of

Wolf Plume's outrider ship.

Reports came in from the other AmerIndian Confederacy solar ships.

Wolf Plume felt a relief and sadness wash over him. Over one hundred

thousand UDA soldiers were killed by the Ghost Dance. Every soldier on each

of the fourteen hundred prime ships was sacrificed on the UDA’s alter of

aggression. It was the greatest military victory ever achieved by the

 J. Scott Garibay 407

AmerIndian Confederacy. Naanac was now and forever the Homelands. The

blood price paid in full.

Wolf Plume sat. He felt weak, the enormity of what had just occurred

weighing on him. More people died here today than lived on some outposts.

It was a considerable loss of life and though they were his enemies, Wolf

Plume felt sorrow for the loss to their families.

Nothing any of the Nez Perce engineers and techs tried would restore

power. Brand new Nagaspheres yielded no power. The blackness lasted for

exactly sixty-seven minutes when power surged back into all of the ships.

With power restored Wolf Plume got to work organizing skeleton crews to

pilot the UDA prime ships to Naanac’s orbit where they could be emptied of

the thousands of corpses. Wolf Plume dispatched a single shuttle to Naanac

to inform the Elders of these new developments.

Elder John looked unusual wearing a thin long rain slicker and heavy

boots. While these items would have normally caused him discomfort, he

was willing to wear them to live on this wet, glorious land. Diegueño tribals

had built a roaring fire and the overhead trees kept the damp drizzle off the

fire.

John was amazed at how it felt to walk on the damp ground of Naanac.

He relished the soft squish of the soil under his boot. Just a few meters away

the Apache were already erecting a handsome wooden lodge for the Elder
408 AmerIndian 2192

Council. Seated on logs surrounding the fire were Stormseeker, Morgan

Weaver, Keokuk, Wolf Plume and Wovoka.

John considered where the other key players were now. Kugan was

away working with the Kichai to take full economic advantage of the chaos

that would sweep through when the Intergalactic Stock Exchange was

reopened. Assets to defend and opportunities to harvest. On all nine of the

UDA colonies Kugan had top-notch Kichai broker packs ready to trade.

Celetain was in critical condition and the best Haida healers were attending

her. Her body and mind had been ravaged by the ordeal of the Ghost Dance.

John spoke evenly, “The Ghost Dance was effective. One hundred and

sixty thousand UDA soldiers died in Naanac’s orbit. Investigation shows that

each UDA prime ship received AmerIndian Confederacy code before they

decompressed. Also each UDA prime ship fired its Kellion Cannon but it is

unclear what was transmitted. The seven UDA fleets that were sent, all

fourteen hundred prime ships, are ours. It appears that the airlocks on every

ship were simultaneously opened and all power on the ships was cut off.

Death was quick for those aboard. All of the UDA colonies and outposts lost

power for sixty-seven minutes. The death toll on those UDA colonies and

outposts will take months to determine. Hospital patients who lost power to

their medical equipment, outpost inhabitants that did not have non-electrical

air-supply source and other situations abound. We need to communicate with

the UDA again as soon as possible.”

 J. Scott Garibay 409

Stormseeker tossed a small damp branch onto the blazing fire. “It's

what the Zuni live for, politics and intelligence handling. Give it over to Chief

Koqua. Leave it to her discretion.”

Morgan Weaver nodded and Elder John went on to the next issue.

“They would be fools to try, but if the UDA sends another wave of ships, what

is our response?”

Keokuk answered. “Sliver told me the Acolytes could not repeat the

Ghost Dance without Celetain. Tsimshian tech-packs are working with

skeleton crews put together by the Nez Perce. They should be able to get ten

to twenty empty prime ships to mirror the actions of one fully crewed prime

ship. So we can use the fleet we just gained. It will be unwieldy though.”

John shook his head hoping such a scenario would not play out.

“Weaver, what is the state of the tribes? How are they reacting to the effects

of the dance?”

Weaver warmed his hands near the fire and spoke while staring at the

back of his hands. “They are ecstatic. They feel powerful and in their minds,

Naanac is theirs. Many saw the pillars fall and they believe that they were

prophesied ‘blood payment’ for our Homeland. The Apache and the Brule are

riled, wanting a bigger fight. They think there will be another wave of ships.

The Diegueño and the Tsimshian on the other hand are too relaxed, thinking

the UDA will not possibly respond. I want to meet with the chiefs and balance

the field, get everyone pointed in the same direction.”

410 AmerIndian 2192

It was a good suggestion, sensible and helpful. John and Stormseeker

were surprised to hear it come from Morgan Weaver. John smiled at Weaver

and Stormseeker agreed that a meeting was in order. The group gave the

matter a few more ruminations. It was a waiting game at this point. The

Elders stopped rolling hypotheticals and decided it was better to help with

the work of turning this swamp into a home.

Keokuk and Elder John went to the World Building meeting. Black Crow,

the AmerIndian Confederacy's best geologist and something of a legend in

the field of terraforming, was now going over options the tribes had. He laid

out ways to bring about climate changes to benefit the various animals the

AmerIndian Confederacy wished to introduce to Naanac. Discussion,

suggestions, questions, curses and jokes continued throughout the day. Many

tribals argued the changes Black Crow suggested were invasive and

unnatural. Black Crow answered that it was man's nature to change his

environment, irrigation as an example, so there was nothing unnatural about

these suggestions. He also pointed out that all of his plans were tempered

with a respect and reverence for the land.

Every tribe was holding talk circles, meetings where a dozen issues

affecting the settlement of Naanac would be decided. Other tribals, however,

thought the time for talk was over. Shuttles of various size were still landing

on the open fields of mossy grey-green grass a few hundred meters from

base camp and the main throng of AmerIndian. Diegueño tribals joyfully

unloaded stallions, colts, ponies, wolves, bears and mountain lions. The
 J. Scott Garibay 411

animals were rounded into large laser fenced area as the Diegueño leaders

carefully considered how the animals should be released.

Keokuk and Wovoka walked together taking in the madness. They

laughed as they saw Great Stone's boys all riding bare back on stallions. The

crowed parted before them. Dallen, a thin whip of a boy, galloped close to

Keokuk. He strained to stay on his beautiful horse. With a short abrupt hop

the horse threw the boy, depositing him as a flailing bunch of arms and legs.

Keokuk and Wovoka rushed over to find the boy laughing harder than his

brothers as they galloped off.

Keokuk grabbed cider and pemmican and shared with his brother as

they made their way to help with the Tee Pee cluster the clones were

erecting. The scene was disorganized, a hundred celebrations going on at

once. Keokuk and Wovoka enjoyed the chaos of their new home together as

brothers.
412 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 31

Lige made his way into the large austere office of President Sullivan.

He dragged the disheveled and bound form of an old man. Jaret strode

silently behind Admiral Lige, his hand resting casually on his katana. Lige

kicked the old man forward onto the floor before the President and his

advisors.

The old man was bleeding and unclean. The advisors were not used to

the sight of blood and it unnerved them. Lige bowed deeply to the five

figures in the room. Jaret mirrored him.

President Sullivan looked both worried and relieved to see Lige. The

president's two consuls looked perturbed. Grand Admiral Ramus' mouth was

open, shock showing plainly on his face. Lige was supposed to be thousands

of galaxies away, dead. The last of the five was a thin man dressed in what

appeared to be dark clergy garb of an indeterminable religion. Lige gave him

a quick glance and then addressed the group.

 J. Scott Garibay 413

“I am here to claim what has been denied me for far too long; control

of the entire UDA Navy. By now you have read my objections to the Naanac

Response and should understand why I chose to disobey a direct order from

Grand Admiral Ramus.”

Ramus stammered. “The end does not justify the means. You are court

marshaled and stripped of -”

President Sullivan waved his hand casually at Ramus. Ramus stopped

talking abruptly. “You’ve played the game long enough, Ramus, to know the

end always justifies the means. Who is this bloodied man, Lige?”

The thin man in the dark robes sat forward eager to hear Lige's reply.

Lige gave the bound man a quick hard kick. “While Ramus sent one hundred

and sixty thousand UDA soldiers to their death, I used my time a bit more

productively. This is AC Founder Potlatch Weaver.” Lige said no more.

The advisors looked at each other. Each man waited for the others to

explain to Lige that this disheveled sack of human could not possibly be

Potlatch Weaver.

“Potlatch Weaver has been dead for thirteen years, fool.” Ramus spat.

Lige shook visibly, anger boiling over. “Against my advisement you

have lost one hundred and sixty thousand UDA soldiers, handing fourteen

hundred prime ships in perfect condition to the AC. For that alone I am

contemplating beating you to death with my bare hands right here and now.

You should refrain from referring to me as anything but your replacement.

414 AmerIndian 2192

The DNA tests that this is Potlatch Weaver are conclusive, but irrelevant.”

Lige pulled the old man's head up by his hair. President Sullivan and the

robed man's eyes went wide. They had seen this man's face on vids more

time then they could count and both men had met him in person over two

decades ago. It was Potlatch Weaver, without question.

“How?” President Sullivan asked, amazed.

“The Great Elder was not killed at the White Earth Massacre. Elder

John, then chief of the Zuni, faked Weaver’s death at Weaver’s command.

Elder John got him off of the lodge ships to the nearest outpost. Weaver

could not handle his defeat at my hands. Seems it took all of the spirit out of

him. Since the White Earth Massacre he has been playing leap frog, living as

a hermit on a dozen different outposts.”

President Sullivan smiled broadly. “Excellent work Lige, prepare your

fleet for -”

“First things first, President Sullivan. There is the matter of Grand

Admiral rank. Let's settle that now.”

The President paused. He looked at Grand Admiral Ramus. “You are

deposed as Grand Admiral and hereby replaced by Lige.”

Ramus gaped. He had seen this moment coming for more than five

years and yet the fact that his career was ended with the uttering of a single

sentence was still shocking to him.

 J. Scott Garibay 415

“Take a hint from this defeated enemy,” Lige kicked Weaver again.

“Lose yourself on a distant outpost, Ramus, before this day is out or no law

will protect you. I will handle this debacle with AC, President Sullivan. Save

your orders for the lackeys who need them.”

With that Lige and Jaret scooped up Weaver and were gone.

In the founder’s body tank Wovoka clunked up to the outrider ship

Celetain had released the Ghost Dance from. It seemed unreal as Wovoka

looked out over the crowd. He had struggled for this moment all his life,

fought to attain the dream of his father. A week ago, he thought it would be a

decade or more before he gained the chiefdom of the Apache. Now he led

the AmerIndian Confederacy. Tears of joy, loss and exhaustion rolled down

his face.

Fear of addressing the massive gathered crowd laced his stomach. He

settled himself, knowing all he had to do was speak the truth. Over ten

thousand tribals peered up at him. He knew his image was being projected to

other areas of the planet to be viewed on comp sets. Tribals were crammed

together as far as the eye could see and dozens of bon fires and torches lit

up their turned faces in a flickering warm light. Fortunately, the drizzling rain

hid his tears.

“Brothers and sisters, I am not a great speaker. My words are not

beautiful and inspirational like our founder, Potlatch Weaver, or our Elder
416 AmerIndian 2192

Wisdom. But today beautiful words are not needed. Only the truth. I will not

thank you for sacrificing for the AmerIndian Confederacy because you did not

do it for me. We, together, did it for the AmerIndian Confederacy. We fought

for over two decades and carved out a new and ancient way of living. We can

now return to the lives of beauty and balance our forefathers showed us. This

is now our planet, our Homeland, paid for in full with blood.

“Here we will build a place of harmony where we will live in balance

with nature, not ignoring and shunning the new ways of technology, but

using them in a way that is responsible and balanced. We will enjoy the

sweet serenity that only a life of harmony with nature, working with the land,

can give. We can continue our spiritual journey as a people. Technology will

once again become a tool, not a shackle. There will be struggles. Be

prepared. Who will defend this land?” A roar rose from the crowd.

No one slept that night. There was only rejoicing, dancing, singing and

feasting. Outside the Free Mantle thirty lodge ships, 620 AmerIndian

Confederacy outrider ships and dozens of manned and hundreds of remote-

controlled UDA prime ships guarded the planet.

 J. Scott Garibay 417

CHAPTER 32

Darkness ebbed slowly away and light played carefully along the edge

of Alexa's consciousness. The fall into the ship had knocked her unconscious

and so the journey through the grav hole had been oblivion to her. Now she

could feel her arms and legs around her. She snapped upright, quickly

opening her eyes wide. It was a strange sensation. As she opened her eyes

the darkness returned. Her eyes were wide open but seeing nothing.

Alexa felt around her and realized she was lying on a soft mattress.

Alarmed, she wondered who had put her in bed? No one should be on this

ship but her. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed she tried to stand,

falling immediately to the floor. Her alarm intensified. The floor was cold,

hard. She tried to scramble back to her feet but hit something as she rose.

The crash of steel and the breaking of glass erupted in the small dark room.

Breaking glass? She had only heard the breaking of glass one other

time in her life. She remembered her father, President Sullivan, angry over a

failed political maneuver throwing a two hundred year old vase against a
418 AmerIndian 2192

wall. A beam of light, orange and flickering, spread across the room. Cold

liquid now covered her, clinging to her light robe.

A figure stood before her. The figure bent and as Alexa's eyes adjusted,

she saw a man. His head was shaved and he was dressed in a heavy black

robe. She scrambled away from him picking up a large piece of the broken

glass. In a flash she was on her feet brandishing the long slice of glass that

had already cut her hand.

The man backed away quickly. “No, No. We mean you no harm. You are

safe, you are safe.”

Alexa looked around. Lit only by the torch the man held, she could see

the room was small and windowless. A bed, a nightstand, a desk and chair

were the only pieces of furniture. The furniture seemed to be wood. She also

made out that the cold, hard floor was stone. The walls were made of stone

as well.

“Where am I?” she demanded.

The man spoke softly. “You are at the Monastery and you are not in

danger. We have not harmed you, nor will we harm you in any way. Please

put the shard down. You are injuring yourself.”

She glared at him and raised the long slice of glass. “Where am I?”

“You are in Amanth Sector, fifth planet from the solar source. We

received you and your ship two days ago. Please, look around. You were not
 J. Scott Garibay 419

restrained and there is no lock on this door. You are safe. Put down the glass

and let me help you.”

Alexa looked around the room. There was no sign she was being held

by force. It occurred to her that if the man had wanted to harm her the torch

he held was more of a weapon than the shard she held. She dropped the

shard and startled when it broke on the floor.

The robed man stepped forward slowly. “Please relax. Sit on the bed. I

am Michael, the first advocate, the healer of this monastery.” Alexa realized

the man was handsome and tall. The healer took a small case from his robe.

He then took her hand gently and began to bandage it.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Please, wait here and I will bring you some clean dry clothes.” The

monk exited quickly and Alexa was alone. She studied the room. She

discovered to her surprise the desk had a comp unit in its face. She activated

it with the standard “Comp on” command. It was a high-end model, beautiful

resolution on the screen. She asked questions but discovered quickly the

comps parameters were locked and would allow access only to the

entertainment functions.

The handsome monk returned and gave Alexa a thicker robe of the

same design he wore. He waited outside while she dressed. When she was

done, she came out of the room into the hall.

420 AmerIndian 2192

“I'm sure you have a thousand questions. Come with me. I will take you

to the man who can give you the answers.”

A walk through stone halls brought the two to a set of large double

doors. The monk opened them and light bathed Alexa. Abruptly, the stone

and wood of the monastery disappeared.

Before her loomed a hangar bay. Alexa and the monk looked down on a

bustling area of war preparation. Four highly customized prime ships hovered

in the air. The ships were surrounded by dozens of fighters being repaired,

loaded or armed. Alexa knew immediately that she was not looking at any

kind of UDA operation. Most likely, this was a Periphery base run by outpost

pirates. How the monastery played into what she saw was beyond her.

A wide, chunky hovercraft floated up to the double doors. Another

handsome young man piloted the craft. Alexa looked again at the monk and

could see the all too perfect features of a clone. The monk gestured toward

the hovercraft, which was now snugged close to the wall. Designed to carry

up to six passengers the hovercraft was convertible. Alexa took the monks

hand and stepped down into the front seat next to the pilot. The monk sat

behind her and addressed the pilot, “We are expected by Command.” The

pilot nosed the vessel down and made his way through the hangar bay.

“What is this place?” Alexa could see rock outcroppings at the front of

the hangar bay, which was open to cold vacuum space. A sophisticated grav

shield held the atmosphere of the hangar bay in.

 J. Scott Garibay 421

“New Eden,” the monk said without comment.

The trip to the bottom of the hangar bay was short. The monk climbed

out of the craft and helped Alexa down. Alexa stood on the floor of the

hangar bay and looked back at the now the distant double doors she had

exited a moment ago. The monk led her over to an older man dressed in

unassuming, simple coveralls. He stood over a battle table. Alexa had seen a

battle table before in her father’s office. A two-meter oval with a view screen

over a dedicated comp, a battle table allowed detailed tracking of ships and

or troop movements in remote locations. The older man’s eyes met hers. She

knew he was set apart, a leader here. He flashed a dangerous smile. With a

fast hand he grabbed her chin and turned her face to a slant, examining it.

Alexa gritted her teeth but something told her not to struggle.

“Meat” he said and released her. She shook her head feeling a slight

pain in her jaw where he had clutched her. She scrunched her nose at the

comment. “Clones, you are all clones,” she said.

The older man’s smiled broadened.

“My god, you are Octavias, head of Humanitace. You are UDA public

enemy number one. Well, I guess your numbers lower than that considering

the AmerIndian Confederacy Elders.”

Octavias nodded curtly. “Public enemy number one? It's all politics. I

sow more havoc in a week than the AmerIndian Confederacy has been

responsible for in years. I just hide my tracks better. Now while we’re
422 AmerIndian 2192

disclosing, you are Alexa Sullivan, daughter of UDA President Sullivan. The

low end model.”

“You know I was replaced by a clone?”

“Of course we know. Gavon Lige is quick, but we can tell our own,” he

sniffed, “regardless of falsified tests.”

“I ended up in the periphery? My ship was supposed to be headed for

Earth.” Alexa began to feel nervous as the monk gestured to the clones in

the area to find tasks to do elsewhere.

Octavias leaned against the battle table and folded his arms. “Oh no,

your jump was excellent. Your ship came out of its correspondence plane

within two million kilometers of Pluto. Just happens your ship, with you

sleeping like a baby inside, was found by an ice tug with a Humanitace

captain. He had to kill the rest of the crew because one of them recognized

you on sight. He brought you here to Humanitace HQ.”

“Why? Why go to all the trouble to bring me here?”

“The answer to that is complex. There is currently a very delicate

shadow combat being waged. The AmerIndian Confederacy, Gavon Lige and

the UDA are the participants. Each is a fulcrum for political and military

power. The outcome will determine the destiny of billions.”

Alexa looked puzzled, “Lige and the UDA? No, Lige serves the UDA.”

“Lige serves the UDA no more than the lion serves the gazelle. I would

sooner have your father call an intergalactic blood hunt for me than receive
 J. Scott Garibay 423

a dinner invitation from Gavon Lige. He is more dangerous than the Race

Representatives or any other member of the UDA government. I need to

know where you fit in. All I want is your complete and honest story. It will

answer many questions and prepare me to be in the right position when

things shake out. If you give me your full and complete story I promise you I

will return you unharmed to the AC. If you withhold a single detail I need –

well I will not hesitate to slice you into six pieces and send each to a different

galaxy.”

She could not look away from his gaze and she had no doubt he would

carry out his threat. “Why are you doing this? The AmerIndian Confederacy

treats clones fairly. Clones are accepted and respected as full tribals.”

Octavias paused before speaking. “True. Many of my brothers and

sisters have taken refuge with the AC. However, they are in severe,

unfortunate denial of their true nature. The tribals treat them as equals; tell

them they may enjoy all of the rights and privileges of a full human. It is

telling a prince he may serve as a stable hand. We are not equal to humans;

we are superior in every facet. Humans rut like filthy dogs creating random,

inferior stock at best, deformed and witless at worst. We are planned.

Created in clean, beautiful form, sound and superior in mind, body and spirit.

The Harmony League, the only other clone rights group of significant power,

wishes clones to live as equals, integrate and work with humans. Did

homosapiens integrate with neanderthals? Evolution has spoken clearly. We

424 AmerIndian 2192

are the new generation and the sooner we wipe away your kind, the sooner

the human race can progress to its proper condition.”

Octavias turned and walked under one of the hovering prime ships.

Reluctantly Alexa followed him. He stopped before a grouping of large red

cases piled neatly on top of one another, three cases high. Recognizing the

cases as containers for Nagaspheres, Alexa moved forward to get a better

idea of how many cases there were. “You are the group who has been

supplying the AmerIndian Confederacy anonymously with Nagaspheres when

they run low. Why? Why would Humanitace do that?”

“Why? It should be evident to you. The AC is currently the lesser of the

two evils. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. For now. The actions of the

AC serve our purposes in a round-a-bout manner. There is a balance of power

forged by the struggle between the AC and Lige. The AC could defeat the

UDA with Lige. Lige would now rule the UDA if the AC did not exist. Without

the AC or Lige the UDA will crumble without purpose or direction.”

Alexa nodded. There was some truth to his words.

Octavias pressed the release on the first case. It hissed open showing

the gleaming mirror surface of a Nagasphere. “Now please, you are a lovely,

charming girl and it would pain me to carve you to pieces, but if you cause

me the slightest delay or inconvenience that is exactly what I will do. Your

story please.”
 J. Scott Garibay 425

Alexa smiled back at him. “It all began…” The President's daughter

spoke steadily. Octavias would not allow her to stop talking for two more

hours. His questions were many and she was surprised at how much he

already knew about AmerIndian Confederacy operations. Finally, she told him

the story of how Jaret freed her. Octavias now looked tired, but at this

particular tale he perked up and devoured every detail. Alexa finished and

felt a strange calm wash over her as she closed her story. Octavias was

silent. His aid bent and whispered something into his ear.

“What happens now?” Alexa asked.

“I am returning you to the AC. With you I am sending a care package.

One thousand Nagaspheres, which the AC is in desperate need of. You will

also carry a message for me to Stormseeker.”

Alexa nodded. “Courier for the clones. I can do that.”

Before Grand Admiral Lige stood eight squads, the best body tank

troops gathered from every colony and outpost in the UDA. These sixty-four

men would be all he needed to settle his problem with the AmerIndian

Confederacy once and for all.

Lige walked slowly, visually inspecting each man's mobile armor as he

passed. “Your commanders have failed. You have failed. Time and time again

we have been turned back by a band of thieves. Today, that will change.

Today, you will have only men of the highest caliber at your side. Weak,
426 AmerIndian 2192

indecisive leaders will not hinder you. The man next to you will be quick,

lethal and efficient. Today, we will deliver a blow to the AC that will break the

foundation of their ramshackle organization.”

Lige stopped and took in the soldiers. Only one soldiers concern was

visible on his face. “What is wrong, soldier?”

“Nothing, sir.” The soldier replaced his slight frown with a soldier's

standard, determined visage.

Lige walked forward. “You have permission to speak freely, soldier.”

The soldier hesitated a moment. “How are sixty-four men going to beat

the AC when one hundred and sixty thousand UDA soldiers were

slaughtered?”

A broad smile came across Lige's face. “A fair and astute question,

soldier. Each and every man here needs to understand that what occurred at

Naanac was a military blunder of significant proportion. The AC waltzes in

and takes possession of Naanac and the UDA's response is simply to send

hundreds of ships to take the planet back by force. The UDA response was

completely predictable. It was the one and only response for which the AC

could plan perfectly. The last Grand Admiral,” Lige said the title in contempt,

“led his men headlong into a trap. I will not do the same. Here, today, I am

relying on each man to carry out his duty. Each of you has been hand picked

for this mission. Soldier, what is the main driving force behind the AC? What

have they consistently established as a goal for their Homeland?”

 J. Scott Garibay 427

The soldier furrowed his brow. “Preservation of natural resources, sir.”

“That is correct, soldier. They wish to establish a clean, unpolluted

environment. So instead of bloodying our noses by fighting them head to

head we will simply deny them what they are fighting for.”

Jaret stepped forward. He pressed a button on a long black box and

with great care held it out to Lige. Lige plucked a long tube out of the box. He

held it up over his head. The tube, made of a clear plasteel alloy caught the

light and glowed an iridescent pink. Lige spoke slowly, staring at the tube.

“Anthra Sweet. The deadliest, fastest spreading virus in existence. Spreads

from one living host to another by physical contact. Once released on

Naanac, Anthra Sweet will spread from blade of grass to blade of grass at a

rate of half-meter a second killing every single living organism down to the

last cell. The planet will be transformed from a new habitable planet,

teaming with life, to one of billions of lifeless periphery rocks in a matter of

days.

“Before this day passes we will release Anthra Sweet on Naanac. Plans

have been laid to get each one of you onto the planet with Jaret and me as

we meet with the AC Elders. When the signal is given you will create enough

chaos to allow Jaret and I to don our body tanks. The Anthra Sweet cylinder is

equipped with a release mechanism that will trigger when Jaret and I have

sealed our body tanks. Once the virus has spread all units will then leave

Naanac through the Free Mantle via shuttle, rendezvousing with our waiting

prime ships. Does everyone understand?”

428 AmerIndian 2192

“Yes, Grand Admiral,” the soldiers shouted in unison.

“Is there any man here who does not believe he can complete this

mission?” Silence answered Lige's question. “Success awaits us.”

Lige turned and headed toward the bay ramp on his prime ship. Jaret

reported as the turbo lift raised them toward the bridge. “All parameters are

go, sir. Prisoner is prepped and healthy.” Lige nodded.

Jaret stepped forward. “Sir, there may be a smaller window for success

on this mission than we planned for. I believe you should reset the Anthra

Sweet cylinder to release when your suit alone is sealed.”

Lige turned to Jaret. The young Kentucky samurai was stunned by what

he saw on Lige's face - the look of a father's love toward a son, pure and

strong. It was the look of approval and pride he had looked for in his own

father's eyes, but had never seen. “Jaret, I am now at the head of the UDA

fleet. You of all people should know how close I am to ascending to the power

I deserve. I will soon take control of the weak coalitions that abound on the

colonies and outposts. My product will be a nation strong enough to rule all

of the seven settled galaxies, strong enough to open the Periphery to safe

settlement again, and control them as well. Caesar and Alexander the Great

will be my inferiors. With the force of my own will, I will build an empire to

last ten millennia.”

Lige set his hand on Jaret's shoulder. “I will need leaders for my

military, men I can trust, men who understand and share my vision. Jaret,
 J. Scott Garibay 429

you have been the first of my lieutenants. You have been my most trusted

aid since the day you attempted to sacrifice yourself for me on Preltas. We

will leave Naanac together. Together. Alive. Victorious. That is the only way I

will leave that planet. From this day forward you will no longer be my

servant, but my son.”

Jaret stood not knowing how to respond. “Thank you…. Father.” It was

all Jaret could think to say. All that was necessary.

430 AmerIndian 2192

CHAPTER 33

Alexa shook her head to dispel the queasiness she felt after traveling

through a correspondence plane. She peered out the bridge windows and

jumped when she saw a pattern of Jet Tigers streaking past her UDA prime

ship. Her comp set beeped and she finger tapped to listen. “You are in

AmerIndian Confederacy controlled space. State your reason for being here.”

Alexa grinned. “I am Alexa Sullivan, member in good standing of the

AmerIndian Confederacy, Diegueño tribe. My ship is carrying important cargo

for the AmerIndian Confederacy. I also carry an important message for the

Elder Council.”

Silence. “Welcome home, Alexa. Prepare for docking. We will send a

pack over to search the ship. If all is as you say we will escort you to the

surface of the AmerIndian Homeland, Naanac. The cargo will stay in orbit, for

now.”
 J. Scott Garibay 431

Autumn Sky led the search of the ship and then escorted Alexa to her

pack's shuttle. The shuttle hit the chunnel at speed and the view amazed

Alexa. She had never seen anything like the free-floating asteroid field

surrounding Naanac. The chunnel cored through the maelstrom of flying

rock. The shuttle passed through the end of the chunnel and Alexa saw only

grey as they shot through a kilometer thick cloud. Suddenly her view was

filled with the grey green forests and black mountains of Naanac. The colors

were drab, muted, but the planet had it's own unique beauty. Streaking

down, the shuttle passed over the teeming camp that stretched for ten

kilometers in a wide circle. The shuttle hovered directly over an area where

tribals were conducting a barbecue. Finally, tribals poured water on the fire

and grabbed up the meat to go find another spot as the shuttle set down.

“This is incredible,” Alexa said to Autumn Sky.

“Yes, it is history in the making. The people are in love with the land

already. Come.” Autumn Sky led Alexa and the pack down the steps of the

shuttle. Alexa's took in the delicious smell of roasting meats. Tribal drum

music could be heard from different directions. Alexa felt joy all around her.

She took in the sights, smells and sounds of people making and enjoying a

home. Tribals trotted by on horses and two dark skinned boys chased a wet

puppy, the ground squishing under their feet.

Autumn Sky led Alexa to a large tent. Under the well-staked tarps a

small fire crackled and Wovoka, Keokuk, Stormseeker, and John sat eating.

The men talked low and their mood was somber in stark contrast to those
432 AmerIndian 2192

surrounding them. Autumn Sky approached and John noticed her. “Yes,

Autumn Sky?” The others looked up as Alexa stepped forward.

Elder John jumped to his feet. “We were worried about you. Where

were you taken? How did you escape? Oh, excuse me. Please, sit down.”

Alexa took the place next to John. “I was captured on the Dorimian

excursion due to the betrayal of Zuni Snow Blind. She is a double agent for

the UDA and the reason for our defeat at Nomar Hax. Lige held me as

prisoner for, I think, three months. He cloned me.”

Elder John nodded, “Cloned you? We thought you were dead.”

“I had a friend who came to see me each day at the cell where I was

being kept. He helped me… Actually there was no help involved. He single

handily facilitated my escape.”

Stormseeker’s suspicious gaze fell on Alexa. He suspected Alexa was a

clone sent by Lige. Stormseeker, as an Elder, respected customs. He could

not challenge Alexa. The simple DNA test that could be completed in

moments could not be asked of any tribal. The tribes lived under the idea

that clones were human in every way. If Alexa was a clone, it mattered not.

All that mattered was if she was loyal and that could only be shown by

actions.

“Ah, a traitor in Admiral Lige's ranks.” John grinned. “Your 'friend' was

Dark Strider, a deep cover Zuni that has served on Black Mariah for four

years now. He is a brave warrior. I am glad he was there for you.”

 J. Scott Garibay 433

Stormseeker nodded in agreement.

“No, Elder John. It was Jaret Tucker, Lige’s right hand.”

“The Kentucky Fried Samurai? That's impossible,” Stormseeker

frowned.

“It is the truth, Elder Stormseeker. He killed no less than ten UDA

soldiers getting me off Black Mariah. He set up a prime ship to

correspondence jump from a hundred meters off Black Mariah’s stern. The

correspondence jump was calculated for Earth but the proximity to the other

fleet ships set it off and I came out near Pluto. An ice tug came across my

ship and picked me up. The captain was Humanitace. He brought me to

Humanitace HQ in the periphery.”

“The periphery,” Keokuk said, surprised.

“Yes. I'm not sure where. I met with Octavias, the leader of Humanitace

and he gave me both cargo and a message. The ship I came in is carrying a

thousand Nagaspheres. Humanitace has been our anonymous benefactor all

along.”

Elder John's hands dropped into his lap. “The Nagaspheres have been

coming from Humanitace. We may not be able to use them this time,

knowing the source.”

Stormseeker locked his eyes on Alexa. “What message did Octavias

give you?”
434 AmerIndian 2192

Alexa hesitated. “Octavias wants to call in a marker for the thousands

of Nagaspheres they have supplied and for what they are supplying now.

Octavias wishes the AmerIndian Confederacy to grant Humanitace an

embassy on Naanac, twenty square kilometers of land, at any place we

choose. Octavias says his people will live by our laws and no military

presence will be kept here. In exchange we get an additional one thousand

Nagaspheres a month and one hundred next-gen clone birth chambers with

ten to follow every year there after. He wants this to tie our organizations in

a bond of peace. If we refuse he has an alternative offer for Admiral Lige.”

The group let the news wash over them. Alexa noticed the absence of

Celetain, but decided not to ask.

Stormseeker was the first to speak. “There is no question here.

Octavias is a terrorist. We do not condone his methods or support his goals.

His offer leads down a dangerous road. Every hour we hold this planet

cements our process from being a band of thieving rebels to a legitimate

intergalactic government. If we deal with Octavias we lose credibility with the

UDA colonies, outposts and elements in the Periphery.”

John looked at Stormseeker and grinned. “Fine line between terrorist

and freedom fighters, we of all people know that. We have an opportunity to

make a powerful ally or give our greatest enemy one. The very fact that we

have this planet demands we accept the terms. We need supplies. We will

not have the luxury of cut and run raids anymore. The steady flow of
 J. Scott Garibay 435

Nagaspheres will be invaluable. From a practical standpoint, we need those

supplies.”

Wovoka interjected, “Octavias knows that, which makes us vulnerable.

I agree with Stormseeker, we need to back away from this on principal. It is a

deal with a dark spirit.”

Keokuk shook his head. “It's really not that simple. Those supplies are

critical. Elder John is right we can't be stealing from the UDA if they are to

recognize us as a sovereign intergalactic government. If we are to have

peace. If our ships stop moving, we lose the ability to defend ourselves,

trade and communicate.”

Wovoka came back fast at his brother, “Trade and communicate what

and with whom. This planet is our natural home, balanced and in harmony.

How much trade and communication do we need with the UDA or

Periphery?”

“Don't be naive,” John said in a surprisingly harsh tone. “Defense must

now replace our offense. We will need allies. Diplomacy and establishing an

intergalactic political presence-”

“Intergalactic political presence? For Wambli's sake, you sound like a

UDA spin doctor,” Stormseeker spat.

John leveled his hands. “I am simply saying we need to be realistic and

make our decision with all concerns addressed, not just a knee-jerk

reaction.”
436 AmerIndian 2192

“It is out of the question, this is beyond discussion, we have been on

this land for not even a day and you want to make a treaty for our land. Well,

make sure you get a whole lot of shiny beads.” Stormseeker threw his heavy

mug into the fire. Embers kicked up and swirled in the slight breeze. He

walked off pushing his aid aside. The rest sat quietly.

John frowned, “Celetain's absence is hurting us. She calmed him. We all

need to part and give this some thought. Lets meet in the new Elder Hall in

three hours. We'll make a decision then. Keokuk, I want you to inform all of

the chiefs and Celetain of what is going on.” Keokuk nodded and left

immediately to complete the task given him.

Wovoka walked aimlessly, taking in the blur of activity of base camp.

He could see some tribes were considerably busier than others. The

Apaches, the Confederacy's builders, were pressed, breaking out

construction tools, planning. A pack of Apaches made quick work of cutting

down a tall jungle tree with a diamond-coated moly-saw. Despite the fact

that the moly-saw was not powered, the tool was efficient. Other tribals

carried off sections of trees to a lodge house already half done.

Wovoka looked over at a group of Zuni. The tribals sat quietly, a few

rechecking inventory. They looked out of place here on Naanac. Their

espionage skills had been invaluable in acquiring this planet and now settling

it, their expertise was next to useless. Wovoka could see the challenge they
 J. Scott Garibay 437

all faced. Warriors could quickly grow distant from those they protected.

Wovoka sighed. He saw the obvious joy of the tribals here and knew

defending a home would not be an impossible transition from fighting for

one.

There was so much to do, so much to decide, and the decisions were

critical. Too much tolerance from the Elders and chiefs could ruin the

AmerIndian Confederacy's chances of successful settlement on Naanac.

Wovoka wiped moisture from his face. He continued to walk, preoccupied in

thought.

“White Buffalo?”

Wovoka looked down at a young man. A teen, he judged. It was hard to

tell with tribals who came over from UDA colonies or outposts after years of

age-affecting Xanic drug use.

“Wovoka, tribal. Wovoka,” he corrected.

“Oh, no, sir. I'm not a tribal, not yet. But I will be soon. My name is

Derek. Autumn Sky told me what you did to get us here and I wanted to

thank you. I lived on UDA outpost New Angelos all my life. I belonged to an

underground AC sympathizer group that helped transfer messages to and

from the shipbuilding outpost. We were really just a group of kids, I suppose.

I have never seen an animal bigger than a dog, and I didn’t see many of

those. But I read about them. This is an opportunity I dreamed about. I want
438 AmerIndian 2192

to thank you. I’m looking forward to a life with something other than Xanic

and fourteen hours of wall screen viewing a day. Thank you.”

Wovoka smiled. “I am glad you could make it, Derek. I know this can all

be very intimidating. It is a lot of change, all at once. Come with me.”

Wovoka walked slowly and pointed out AmerIndians of different tribes

to Derek, telling him how to differentiate them. Wovoka stopped at a small

tarp. Underneath, a group of boys were shooting razor tipped arrows at

targets twenty meters off.

“Torque,” Wovoka called. “This is Derek. He traveled galaxies to get

here. Served among the Ghosts before he came to us. Make him at home.”

Torque smiled and walked over to Derek and embraced him. “Welcome,

brother. I bet the closest you've ever come to using a bow is on a wall screen

game of Eternal Warrior. Am I right?”

Derek laughed, “Yeah.”

“Well that's about to change, brother.” One of the other tribal youths

handed Derek the bow. Derek smiled and joined the boys. Wovoka watched

and his melancholy dissolved. Wovoka saw the beginning of the end and the

end of the beginning.

Cavaho looked up at the sound of someone approaching.

Contemplation cells were kept dim and after twenty-four hours his eyes were

sensitive to light. He pulled himself up fast and Wolf Plume offered a hand,
 J. Scott Garibay 439

which Cavaho ignored. Wolf Plume noticed a pressure suit in the corner of

Cavaho's cell. He guessed tribals had brought suits to those in the

contemplation cells. “You stayed in this cell even after the power went off

and on? By Wambli, you are a stubborn blackguard. Wovoka is down on

Naanac now. The Ghost Dance was effective. Naanac is ours.”

Cavaho stood and exited the cell ahead of Wolf Plume. He set a steady

pace, leaving the old dog behind him.

“The dance took its toll on Elder Celetain, however. She is in a coma.”

At this Cavaho stopped, listened.

“She's on Naanac at the temporary Haida lodge house, surrounded by

Haida healers.”

Cavaho continued to stare at Wolf Plume.

“What?” Wolf Plume asked.

Cavaho turned and ran to the release area of the contemplation cells.

Impatiently, he collected his gear and hurried to the nearest grav platform.

He pulled his keying bands on and finger tapped the command for the

platform to drop. In moments he was near the bottom of the lodge ship

making his way through the hangars toward a Jet Tiger. He quickly keyed in a

request to set up a release for the fighter to go through the chunnel and

down onto Naanac.

Cavaho monkey swung on the gantry out to a prepped Jet Tiger fighter.

He finger tapped a fighter authorization for his position as an Infiltrator (and

440 AmerIndian 2192

noticed Wovoka’s ascension to White Buffalo had increased his access to AC

resources considerably). Cavaho carefully piloted the bristling Jet Tiger

passed the grav interior shield in the hangar bay and out into open space.

Cavaho opened the throttle and blasted toward the chunnel entrance.

Despite his haste it took the choice-mute another hour to set the

fighter down and find the new Haida lodge house. The lodge house was only

three quarters finished and large cloth blankets sewn together with loose

plexi-line covered one end of the building. Cavaho approached and glared at

the two Haida tribals sending well-wishers away. Nilva, a traditional shaman,

had healed Cavaho more than once and recognized him. She stood before

the make shift flap in the blankets, blocking his entry. “Cavaho, how can we

help you?”

Cavaho stood motionless, frustration building. Cavaho succeeded in his

extreme lack of communication because he cared for nothing but his service

to Wovoka. It mattered not what food Cavaho ate, what equipment he was

given, what mission he was assigned to. None of it mattered. He served

Wovoka and there was no more discussion needed between Wovoka and

Cavaho than between Wovoka and the spanning tool he used to gap cryo-

filters on the Trighter. Now Cavaho was being challenged, severely.

The young silent warrior had sat in the dark alone for the last twenty-

four hours thinking about why he had hurt Celetain. In the emptiness of his

contemplation cell there had been no way to avoid the answer. Cavaho had

hurt Celetain because she had tried to reach out to him. What now frustrated
 J. Scott Garibay 441

Cavaho was that he wanted to reach out to her. Now Celetain lay injured,

hurt by who knows what forces.

When Cavaho continued to stand not answering, the Haida healer did

what almost everyone did for Cavaho. Spoke for him. “Did you want to see

one of the Acolytes? They are all very busy.” Cavaho closed his eyes for a

moment and then looking Nilva in the eye, took her hand. He held it and

nodded. She stepped aside and he walked past.

He made his way through the congested lodge house toward the

center. He squeezed his way through, being careful not to jostle anyone. The

center area was thronged with healers. Celetain's bodily sacrifice had

cemented the victory over the UDA. The Elder Shaman had handled more

power than had been manifested in five centuries. Her acolytes were all

here, their normal stoic calm now replaced with nervousness and anger. Two

acolytes argued with Nez Perce medics. The Nez Perce doctors wanted

Celetain taken off Naanac and brought to the intensive care unit on lodge

ship Yamato. The doctors argued that the Acolytes had failed to help her over

the last six hours and had, in fact, done her harm.

The dance had affected Celetain's Acolytes. Four had died at the

moment of the Ghost Dance's release, killed by the overflow of power that

Celetain channeled. The remaining Acolytes were tired and confused when

they rushed to help her. The Acolytes had tried to bring Celetain out of her

coma with an algorithmic cleansing ritual. When they were done Celetain

could not breathe and had to be resuscitated by Nez Perce medics.

442 AmerIndian 2192

Cavaho squeezed his way forward and caught Creta's eye. Creta had

been the only Acolyte that did not attempt to pull Cavaho off of Celetain

when he embraced her. Creta grabbed Cavaho's hand. “You came. You must

see her. Perhaps your presence will help.”

A huge weight lifted off Cavaho's shoulders. This was what he came for

and he had known someone would have to do the talking for him. Give him

what he wanted without asking for it. To see Celetain, help her. It often

surprised him the effort people expended to put words into his mouth, the

urgent help his silence often produced. Creta pulled him forward.

Cavaho saw Sliver heatedly arguing with a Nez Perce. “That was hours

ago. We are rested and ready to care for her ourselves. I will not discuss this

further. She remains here,” Sliver was close to the face of the tall Nez Perce.

“Chief Rail has charged us to care for her. We will take her where she

can be helped efficiently. You will release her. An Acolyte does not supersede

the wishes of a chief. The Acolytes will be given unlimited access to her on

Yamato. Now certainly you realize we are being reasonable.”

Sliver near growled. “You think your chief has any say over the care of

the Elder Shaman-”

Sliver's eyes lighted on Cavaho. The Nez Perce stepped back; alarmed

to see Sliver could possibly get angrier than he already was.

“You! You've already had your chance to hurt her. On your way, grunt.”

Sliver, frayed at the ends, spoke with derision.

 J. Scott Garibay 443

Creta raised a hand. “No, no, Sliver. Celetain wanted to see him the

other day and I believe his presence could help. Let him through.”

“You are insane, Creta. This man will not be the first thing the Elder

Shaman sees when she wakes. She jailed him, for Wambli's sake. Take him

away!”

Another Acolyte stepped forward, “Sliver, I believe she is right. The

Elder Shaman's reaction to this man was strong. It cannot hurt to let him see

her.”

“Do not question me now! Cavaho, go back to whatever gun port you

crawled out of.”

Cavaho's lips curled back slightly. He lifted his hand and motioned for

Sliver to step aside.

Sliver grinned mockingly. “No, grunt, hand gestures and scowls will not

suffice as communication with me. A smile or a nod would have spared the

Elder Shaman many tears, but you were too proud.” Sliver continued like a

grav train with too much momentum to stop, he bared his teeth in open

defiance to Cavaho. “Now move on, grunt. I got more to worry about than

the likes of you right now. Unless, perhaps, you can act like a normal human

being and simply ask to see her. Say her name and I will let you pass.”

Cavaho's oath of silence was not a secret among the tribals and had

become widely known since Wovoka’s rise to prominence. Everyone in the

room remained still, waiting to see if Cavaho would speak. Cavaho glared at
444 AmerIndian 2192

Sliver, his fists automatically clenching and releasing. The crowd was now

crammed back on itself. Less than two meters separated Cavaho from Sliver.

Cavaho started forward. Sliver bellowed, “No!” Cavaho stopped out of sheer

surprise at the intensity of Sliver's shout. Before Cavaho recovered, Sliver

traced a gloved finger in the air, a single rune. Sliver held his hand forward,

oddly crooked. Cavaho recognized it as a clear threat. The Acolytes could see

the symbol hanging in the air and knew exactly what Sliver intended.

“It is forbidden,” Creta said evenly. Cavaho stepped forward, refusing

to be threatened. A twitch of Sliver's hand and a wave of concussive force

slammed into Cavaho. He was thrown off his feet and slammed heavily

against the far wall, sending tribals toppling on his way. Creta screamed and

the Acolytes stepped back.

Many facets of Sliver's action were surprising to the crowd. Sliver had

willfully done violence to another tribal, an act forbidden by the first of the

three AmerIndian Laws. Even more shocking was Sliver’s attack. The

Acolytes each swore to Celetain to use their Shaman powers aggressively

only against AmerIndian Confederacy enemies. This was the first time an

Acolyte had attacked another tribal using Cybershamanism. Every tribal in

the room knew AmerIndian Law would demand Sliver’s banishment.

Cavaho lay crumpled on the floor. Sliver stepped back. The shocked

look on the faces of the tribals collected around him pulled him back to his

senses. He lowered his hand and anger melted from his face, replaced with

sadness. Tribals crowded around Cavaho, pulling him to a sitting position.

 J. Scott Garibay 445

Sliver approached to discern if Cavaho was badly injured or merely

stunned. The healers around Cavaho blocked him. Sliver stepped closer and

suddenly the healers surrounding Cavaho were parted. Cavaho was low, both

hands in front of him, his powerful legs curled behind him. Sliver had failed

to incapacitate Cavaho with his first strike. There would be no opportunity for

a second.

Cavaho's move to launch himself at Sliver was abruptly interrupted.

“Cavaho?” Celetain sat forward.

Cavaho froze.

Celetain grimaced and regarded her Acolytes. “Is this how you act

when I am not with you?”

Celetain's Acolytes reacted with a mixture of shock, shame and

excitement that their elder was with them once again.

She turned to Cavaho and her face softened. Then the pain she carried

was again evident. Wearing a white cotton gown, her hair back in a loose

ponytail, three wires hanging loosely off her arms, Celetain was now just a

patient again. Cavaho stepped forward and she collapsed into his arms. He

held her, embracing her as much as he dared. He relaxed his hold and looked

down at her, a soft smile coming across his face. He kissed her and she

folded into him.

The room burst back into activity, tribals rushing out of the lodge

house to get the word out that Celetain was conscious again. It would be
446 AmerIndian 2192

welcome news to every tribal and precious words to every Haida. The Nez

Perce medics started to coax Celetain to lie back down. When she refused

Cavaho gently pushed her shoulders back and kissed her on her forehead.

He backed away and let the Nez Perce medics tended to her.

The Alpha medic thanked Cavaho. “Just a few tests and some rest and

you will be able to enjoy our new home, Elder Shaman.” Celetain nodded at

the Alpha medic and reached for Cavaho's hand. She smiled weakly. Cavaho

looked down and grasped her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Go to Wovoka.

He may need you. I will see you again soon.” He bent and kissed her again

and made his way out of the lodge house to find the White Buffalo.
 J. Scott Garibay 447

CHAPTER 34

Construction of the Elder's Hall was completed in less than forty-eight

hours. The Apache's most significant challenge had been laying the

foundation. A dozen construction packs laid down purple granite (from

Theltas II). Cut logs went up in a steady stream after that. The building, the

first and largest permanent AC structure on Naanac, was impressive.

Standing fifteen meters high and spanning forty meters from wall to wall; the

Elder Hall had nine equal sides, each bearing the Totem of one tribe

(including the Clone tribe). One-meter wide windows of rose-colored glasteel

ran from floor to ceiling. Apache artisans carved long, sweeping patterns into

the glasteel. Naanac rain flowed down the patterns creating an enchanting

vertical river. A large fire pit dominated the center of the hall. In the ceiling

above the pit a ten-meter open area allowed light raindrops to fall like wet

diamonds into the room. The fire crackled high and the warm smell of a

hearth permeated the building.

448 AmerIndian 2192

Celetain entered the hall alone. Her eight remaining Acolytes were now

searching Naanac on horseback for points of power, areas lending

themselves to ritual magic. She accepted the greetings of the Apache

construction foreman and lavished him with praise for his efficiency and the

quality of his work.

Elder John walked in and laughed with joy when he saw Celetain. He

accepted a light kiss on his cheek. “So good to see you! Stormseeker has

been a raging bull while you were out.” John pulled Celetain in close, “I

thought we lost you, precious one. I'm glad you are well.” His voice held the

passion of his friendship. She touched his face, “Thank you, John. I am well

and we achieved what our ancestors dreamed we could accomplish. We have

obtained the Homeland. Now we must hold it.”

The Elders took their places on the floor with their backs to the fire.

Each Elder had a section of colored granite designated for them. The nine

chiefs sat in colored sections surrounding the elders, facing them. It was a

tradition that Potlatch Weaver had instituted that chairs would not be used

when the Elders and chiefs met. Instead they would sit on the ground where

it was uncomfortable. This helped the chiefs and Elders remain alert and

discouraged dallying over decisions. The chiefs were informed of the

Humanitace situation reported by Alexa.

Wovoka walked into the Hall with Keokuk and stood on the outside of

the chiefs and Elders’ circle. Elder John began the meeting by chanting a line

from the Seven Eagles Dance. Everyone quieted. “Each of you has been told
 J. Scott Garibay 449

of the challenges and decisions we now face. We are in need of Nagaspheres

to defend our newfound Homeland, communicate with sympathizers on the

colonies and outposts and negotiate with the UDA. Humanitace, the

preeminent militant clones rights group, is offering us one thousand

Nagaspheres now, one thousand Nagaspheres a month and one hundred

next-gen birth chambers with ten to follow every year here after. In

exchange, Humanitace asks for twenty square kilometers of land anywhere

we choose on Naanac. Humanitace claim they will use this land as an

embassy on our Naanac. If we refuse Humanitace leader Octavias threatens

that he will extend an alternate offer to UDA Grand Admiral Lige. The Elders

have gathered the chiefs here for their thoughts before the Elder Council

takes action. The Elder Council will hear each of you and we will decide our

course before three suns set on our new home. Are there any questions

before we begin?”

Apache Chief Coganthan began in a low voice, “What exactly is our

current inventory of Nagaspheres? What resources do we have to buy and

what relationships do we have to current Nagasphere suppliers.”

Elder Kugan leaned forward. “The AmerIndian Confederacy currently

has 3,700 Nagaspheres. We have 620 outrider ships and 1,400 captured

prime ships that require Nagaspheres. One round trip for each of our ships

will expend our inventory. We also need a minimum of seven hundred

Nagaspheres to communicate with sympathizer groups on the UDA colonies

and outposts for the next three months. The AmerIndian Confederacy
450 AmerIndian 2192

currently has four billion liquid UDA credits, two billion in gold and seven

billion in equipment. We are strong financially. We currently have two sources

to buy Nagaspheres from, Grell and Hovinha (both major players in the

Periphery black market). We have dealt successfully with them in the past. It

is uncertain what inventory they now possess or if they can actually deliver

in the near future due to the unstable business environment the Ghost Dance

has created. We need 300 Nagaspheres a month to maintain the chunnel.”

John waited for additional questions. None came. It was evident the

chiefs had found the answers to most of their questions before they sat at

the circle and came ready to express their views. Zuni Chief Koqua spoke

first. Her pleasant, full voice carried well in the Elder Hall. “I have discussed

this with the greatest thinkers of my tribe and they believe the advantages

Humanitace offers would make the risk worth accepting. The Crow, our own

clone tribe, could influence them. Humanitace has an intelligence network

that could double our own resources overnight. The Crow could produce four

hundred premium clones per year, who may all become valued tribals. I

believe not accepting this offer would be an affront to the clone tribe. We

need the Nagaspheres now more than ever. For a scrap of land smaller than

any one tribal can request right now it would be foolish to turn away

Humanitace. If we do not deal with them, there is no question Lige will.”

Kichai Chief River Bull and Tsimshian Chief Shakespeare echoed their

agreement with Koqua.

 J. Scott Garibay 451

Crow Chief Vegas stood before he spoke. The chiefs and Elders sat

forward, eager to hear the first official words of the new clone chief. “The

Crow agree with Chief Koqua that the advantages are clear. We believe a

wise decision will have the AmerIndian Confederacy deal carefully with

Humanitace. Our concern, however, is the offer and the price. Once we grant

even a small portion of land to Humanitace our own intelligence resources

will have to be used to monitor their activities. In addition none of us know

why the Humanitace want this land. What are their goals? We are creating a

vulnerability, one I believe we can manage with caution, but a vulnerability

nonetheless. I propose the AmerIndian Confederacy extend an alternative

offer to Humanitace. Ten square kilometers on Naanac in return for eight

hundred clone births and two thousand Nagaspheres per month.”

River Bull, Shakespeare and Koqua all nodded in agreement. Elder John

graciously thanked Chief Vegas for his word, encouraging him in his first

political expression. Brule Chief Satyr rose before Elder John had finished

speaking. It was evident he was suppressing the rage that helped him control

the deadliest of the AmerIndian Confederacy's tribes. “The Brule have

studied the paths of our fathers. The Brule have learned from their mistakes.

The Brule have refused to mock the wisdom of our fathers with the action

these tribes suggest. The fathers traded land for resources, beads, liquor,

food and blankets. They paid for that foolishness with their lives and with the

lives of generations to follow. No one will get so much as one square

centimeter of our land for any price if the tribals will simply remember the
452 AmerIndian 2192

past.” Brule chief Satyr accepted the quiet nods of support from Apache

Chief Coganthan, Nez Perce Chief Rail and Diegueño Chief Sequoya.

Elder John rose and circled behind the chiefs. “I believe the words

spoken here today are the product of careful thought. Divergent views, yet

all of us wish the best for the tribes.”

Haida Chief Auspice was the last to speak and she stood as Elder John

motioned for her to do so. “As with any offer, there are options. The Haida

are not averse to dealing with Humanitace. They are extremists who have

used violence to promote their beliefs. Claim what you will, the AmerIndian

Confederacy is no different. What must be recognized, however, is that they

are dangerous to the extreme, just as we are. The Haida agree that the clone

births and the Nagaspheres are needed but land is too high a price to pay.

We took this planet with the powers of Cybershamanism and 620 outrider

ships. Now we have fourteen hundred prime ships gained through the Ghost

Dance. There are three planetoids within fifty billion kilometers of this planet.

The Haida propose the AmerIndian Confederacy claim all fifty billion

kilometers surrounding Naanac and offer the Humanitace an outpost on one

of the outer planets as well as a thousand captured prime ships. The Haida

also echo the Brule sentiment that not ‘so much as one square centimeter of

our land’ can be traded.”

All of the chiefs, including Brule chief Satyr, laughed as Auspice

duplicated the tone and sound of Satyr’s voice.

 J. Scott Garibay 453

Elder John continued to circle behind the chiefs. “Thank you all for your

input. Some innovative solutions have been proposed. The Elders have

listened with our minds and hearts. Please excuse the Elders for a moment

and we will announce our decision within the hour.”

The chiefs waited outside the Elder Hall talking, receiving and sending

messengers away at a dizzying pace. There was much to discuss concerning

transfers of supplies from one tribe to another. Distribution of many

resources had been uneven due to what could and could not be stored on the

outrider ships and shuttles small enough to come through the chunnel.

Several of the tribes carried cargo in lodge ships for other tribes. Within the

hour, Elder John called the chiefs back in.

The dignified, careful man waited patiently for each chief to take their

seat. Again John circled the chiefs on the outside. “The Elder Council has

given due thought to each of the proffered views. I defer to Celetain to give

our decision.” John helped Celetain to her feet.

Despite her weakness Celetain stood straight. Her beauty and

presence were not diminished by her recent struggles. “The Brule were

correct. We, and a thousand generations before us, have fought too hard and

long to allow anyone but a member of the AmerIndian Confederacy to live in

the Homeland with sovereignty. Our blood paid for it and our blood shall keep

it. The Elder Council vows not make any arrangement with Humanitace that
454 AmerIndian 2192

will grant them any land on Naanac. We will refuse their initial offer. The

Council will, however, allow Humanitace to build an outpost at distance no

closer than 40,000 kilometers from Naanac in exchange for 600 clone births

and 2,000 Nagaspheres per month for five years. After five years the outpost

will once again become property of the AmerIndian Confederacy and

negotiations will be opened to extend Humanitace' right to stay on the

outpost if they wish. If Humanitace does not accept this offer the council will

name them as an ally of the AmerIndian Confederacy if they do not deal with

Lige. If Humanitace chooses to deal with Lige we will name them as enemies

of the AmerIndian Confederacy.

“Further, the Elders have decided that no AmerIndian Confederacy

land will ever be sold, leased or traded. We wish to seal these decisions in a

vote of unanimous brotherhood of all the tribes. Take it before your tribals.

Consider it yourselves. We believe unity of the tribes is critical to our goal of

successfully holding Naanac. Thank you for gathering. The Elders will remain

at your disposal for questions and feedback.”

Celetain joined Stormseeker and John and listened to the concerns of

the chiefs on the dozens of issues that were now becoming evident for the

tribes on Naanac. Kugan and Morgan Weaver both disappeared shortly after

the announcement of the decision. Late in the evening Celetain broke with

the others and found Keokuk still in the Elder Hall.

Celetain approached Keokuk carefully because his comp set was

opaque. She looked down at him, his back pressed against the hewn logs as
 J. Scott Garibay 455

information scrolled across his lenses. His fingers tapped at a speed achieved

only by Tsimshian tech-jacks. Keokuk was working on the daunting task of

creating new pack types to carry out the multitude of tasks settlement

required. New judge, healer and agrarian pack types were needed. Elder John

had given Keokuk the task because he had written the most of the programs

the AmerIndian Confederacy used to track the specific skill sets of each

tribal. Pack Alphas kept the skill list up to date. Keokuk's programs had been

used for years to help AmerIndian Confederacy leaders put together packs to

complete the tasks necessary for convoy, maintenance and mercenary work.

New programs were needed to quickly build new packs with the necessary

skill sets.

“Keokuk.” Calling Keokuk's name triggered his comp set lenses to go

translucent. Keokuk finger tapped the program off.

“Celetain, how may I serve you?”

Celetain smiled. “Actually, I wanted to see if I could help you. How are

you holding up in all this?”

“Honestly, it has been difficult. I am a tri-jack and I believe I have had

as much responsibility as any chief over the last few days. I feel I am pulled

away from my obligations to the Tsimshian tribe more everyday. I filled an

important role for them.”

Celetain slumped down beside Keokuk placing her arms over her

knees. She looked relaxed and casual and it struck Keokuk how much his life
456 AmerIndian 2192

had changed that an Elder now came to him for conversation. “I wanted to

talk to you about that. What do you think will come of you and your brother

now?”

“I've thought a lot about that recently. Wovoka is the fulfillment of

prophecy to all the tribes and I expect many tribals will look to him for

leadership. Of course, my main concern is the prophecy that he will be

banished. It obviously has not happened. Perhaps the prophecy will be

played out in some unexpected way. Perhaps he will be banished from the

AmerIndian Confederacy decades from now-”

A young Brule tribal burst into the Hall. “Ships in orbit. Lige is

approaching Naanac!”

There was a brief moment of stillness in the hall before the room

exploded into activity. Keokuk ran out of the Elder Hall. He saw at a distance

Wovoka, shadowed by Cavaho, boarding a Striker five shuttle that was

waiting to take the White Buffalo into orbit. Keokuk started down a muddy

path toward the shuttle. He grimaced as the shuttle lifted off without him.

Keokuk watched the shuttle blasting toward the gate near Morgan Weaver,

who had also been left behind.

 J. Scott Garibay 457

CHAPTER 35

Lige's smaller fleet had jumped into Naanac's vicinity with their shields

down. Lige commanded his communication officer to open a channel, “This is

Grand Admiral Lige of the UDA. I request discourse with the Elder Council.”

Wolf Plume looked tired as he came on screen. “This is Wolf Plume,

Alpha of the AmerIndian Confederacy Fleet. Power down all weapons

immediately.”

“No weapons will be powered down. However, we will not fire first. I am

approaching with the intent of communicating with the Elder Council in

person.” Lige commanded the channel muted.

Jaret came to his side, where the floating camera drone did not pick

him up. “Our shuttle is go, every inch is shielded and the signature wraiths

are operational with tight parameters.”

“Excellent.” A view of the shuttle hiding his body tank troops came up

on the center wall screen. Sixty-four body tank troops were nestled inside the

hull of the shuttle in every available space. Sixty-four breakaway hatches

458 AmerIndian 2192

were positioned on the outside of the shuttle so that in seconds the body

tanks could be dispatched, surrounding the shuttle. Lige waited patiently for

Wolf Plume's response. He knew what concerns plagued Wolf Plume.

Normally AmerIndian Confederacy commanders would be coordinating

firing paths and launching additional fighters by now. Today the rules were

different. With the AmerIndian Confederacy declaring settlement rights on

Naanac, they had called for recognition from the eight UDA colonies and

eight hundred UDA outposts. As an intergalactic government calling for their

sovereignty to be recognized, the AmerIndian Confederacy displayed

dedication to replacing guerrilla tactics with diplomacy. Wolf Plume had no

choice but to stand down as long as Lige did not fire first.

Lige reestablished the link to Wolf Plume as he came back on screen.

Wolf Plume frowned as he spoke. “Word has been sent down to Naanac. The

Elders will consider your request. I am sending outrider ships to escort you

into closer orbit at eighteen thousand kilometers. Have each ship follow the

escorts exactly or your movements will be read as flanking maneuvers.”

Lige nodded, “An escort will be fine, Alpha. Let us know when an

audience has been granted.” He commanded the communications channel

closed without waiting for a response.

 J. Scott Garibay 459

Keokuk sat tensely across from Celetain in the Elder Hall. The waiting

was aggravating, not knowing what was happening above. Celetain leaned

forward, “Where is Cavaho?”

The question surprised Keokuk, seeming inappropriate considering the

circumstances. “He is on the shuttle with Wovoka. Where else would he be?”

Keokuk coupled his answer with a wicked smile.

“Wipe that smile off your face, comp jockey. I am your Elder.”

Keokuk injected more respect into his expression. “I apologize, Elder

Shaman.”

Celetain looked at him and nodded silently saying, “You damn well

better apologize.” Then her face softened and she looked back at Keokuk

sheepishly. “He is a good man.”

Keokuk frowned. “No, Elder, he is not. He was a good man at one time.

Now he is a killer. Nothing else is in him anymore. Cavaho is dangerous in

every way and you should understand that before you get any closer to him.

The only thing that keeps Cavaho functional is his service to Wovoka.”

Celetain opened her mouth to contradict him but as she looked into

Keokuk’s eyes she could see his warning was sincere.

Stormseeker raised his hand at the center of the Hall. Those gathered

quieted and comp set views shifted to show the visage of the Confederacy's

greatest enemy, Grand Admiral Gavon Lige. Stormseeker pushed down his
460 AmerIndian 2192

anger enough to speak. “We are here, Lige. Why have you come to our

Homeland?”

Lige stepped closer, his face growing larger. “I have come to discuss

terms of your occupation of Naanac. I have been delegated full authority by

the UDA. There are issues to be settled.”

“Have you been authorized to recognize us as a fully sovereign

intergalactic government, separate from the UDA?”

“More or less.”

“I am not in the mood for witty banter, Lige. If you are not authorized

to recognize us as a fully sovereign intergalactic government, separate from

the UDA, than there is nothing for us to discuss and you can start your

navcomps calculating your way back home.”

Lige paused. “Honestly, no. I do not have that authority. But I can offer

you something close. Regardless, I request Ambassador status as the

delegate of the UDA.”

Stormseeker chuckled. “Grandfather Stone will crumble to pebbles

before you step one foot on Naanac soil, Lige.”

“Really? Let the crumbling begin. I have brought a guest who I believe

can only be properly greeted by the AmerIndian Confederacy Elder’s on

Naanac's surface. I have brought Potlatch Weaver.”

 J. Scott Garibay 461

Stormseeker's face scrunched into a quizzical frown until Jaret wheeled

a longhaired aging man into view on a grav chair. Potlatch Weaver was

locked down with metal clamps.

Lige stooped so his face was next to Weaver's on screen. “He is no

clone. We're sending our bio test data now. Run it against what you have on

file. It will match. But if that's not enough…”

Potlatch's Weaver's mouth was taped and he looked away. Shame

emanated from him. With three fingers Lige straightened Potlatch Weaver's

head toward the remote cam.

Stormseeker growled, “You fool. Potlatch Weaver was killed thirteen

years ago at the White Earth Massacre. You should remember, Lige. You were

there.”

“Oh, I saw what you saw. Weaver's body tank lanced by concentrated

laser fire and then four body tank warriors scooping him up into an outrider

ship. Legend has it he died in the arms of Torquan, then Brule chief. Torquan

is my witness if DNA code is not conclusive enough for you. I don't believe he

can lie to another generation while the proof of his deceit stares him in the

face. Bring him forward.”

Stormseeker did not move as he took in the image in his comp set. It

would not have been difficult for Lige to create a clone of Potlatch Weaver. A

UDA spy could have stolen the DNA code. As Stormseeker looked at the man,

he knew Lige was not lying. There had been mysteries surrounding Potlatch
462 AmerIndian 2192

Weaver's death, questions left unanswered. Through gritted teeth

Stormseeker said, “Bring Torquan in.” A Tsimshian bi-jack contacted Torquan

through his comp set and fed his view to the others present.

Stormseeker explained the situation as quickly as possible to the

retired chief and asked. “Does Lige speak the truth?”

Torquan stood stunned. A secret he helped bury over a decade ago

now loomed before him. As Lige had said the DNA code flowed up the side of

comp set view. The man that created the AmerIndian Confederacy was

before the Elders now.

“Potlatch Weaver,” Torquan said. His voice choked as he released the

word. Potlatch shook his head furiously and his denial of his own identity

made Celetain gasp. His hair flew around his head and he stared through the

strands just as he had years ago.

Stormseeker asked Torquan, again insistently. “Did Potlatch Weaver die

at the White Earth Massacre?”

Torquan steadied himself. “No. He survived. He was broken by our

defeat, ashamed to face the brothers and sisters of the tribes, the survivors.

Potlatch Weaver believed his dream had brought only blood. I helped Potlatch

Weaver leave Shoeless Joe undetected. The body burned as Potlatch Weaver

was an unidentified Brule killed at the White Earth Massacre.”

 J. Scott Garibay 463

Lige's face was close to Potlatch Weaver's. “I have a shuttle ready. I am

prepared to trade Weaver's life for some concessions on the settlement of

Naanac. Prepare to escort us to the surface.”

Stormseeker was still recovering, grappling with the fact that the Elder

Creator was still alive. Potlatch Weaver's writings were sacred text to the

AmerIndian Confederacy. He was inspiration and legend. Seeing his tear-

stained face staring back, helpless, was a powerful blow. Stormseeker

steeled his resolve. “Potlatch Weaver is dead to us, Jackal. The Elder Creator

would not wish us to waste our breath spitting at you. You cannot think we

will bargain with you for his life. Get your navcomps calculating. I want you a

mega-klick from Naanac within five minutes or we will scrap every ship you

brought with you. This discussion is over, hound.”

Next to Lige's face, Weaver was now shaking his head up and down,

frantically agreeing with Stormseeker. Lige pushed Potlatch Weaver's face

aside. “Oh no, old man. If this discussion is over, you can loose the cannons

now. Be aware that for every laser you fire I will send you an decagram of

your leader.” The metallic call of Jaret's diamond-coated wakazashi could be

heard clearly over the open channel, the floating camera drone panned out.

With no more effort than he would expend cutting cheese, Jaret smacked the

blade down on the armrest of the chair, two fingers rolled off Weaver's left

hand, dropping unceremoniously to the floor.

“Gather those and jettison them, Jaret. Prepare a dozen more

containers of various sizes. Weapons systems are go?”

464 AmerIndian 2192

Celetain gasped and ran forward to the floating camera drone. Elder

John intercepted her and addressed Lige. “Power down your weapons, bring

your shuttle in and for Wambli's sake reattach those fingers now. If you harm

him again then there will be battle here and now.”

“No, this is wrong-” Stormseeker roared.

“Shut up, Stormseeker,” Celetain cried. “Please, Lige, bring in your

shuttle and do not harm the Elder Creator.”

Keokuk shook his head. He knew a dark decision had been made and

lives would pay for Celetain and John's compassion. Tribals rushed out of the

Elder Hall running to tell their families that Grand Admiral Gavon Lige was

descending to the surface of their new Homeland.

Keokuk pulled close to Celetain. “Lige survived the Ghost Dance

because he knew that when the UDA sent their fleet, as we expected them

to, we would slaughter them. Now we are doing exactly what he expects us

to do. Tribals are going to die because of this decision.”

Celetain turned to him and with a cold hardness he had not see in her

before. “Yes, they will. But Potlatch Weaver won't.”

 J. Scott Garibay 465

CHAPTER 36

Wovoka's shuttle trip to meet Lige in orbit turned out to be premature.

He now stood back on Naanac with the Elders, six body tank warriors

(including Cavaho) next to him. Three thousand tribals surrounded Wovoka

and the Elders at a distance of two hundred meters. The clearing was

sufficient for Lige's shuttle to set down safely. Elder John had urged all tribals

to stay away, not to gather. He had known his words rang hollow. He and

Celetain were the voices that cried for this act of madness. Words of caution

rolled off his tongue with the clear taste of hypocrisy and anticipatory guilt.

Thanks to Keokuk’s efficiency, well over three quarters of the settling tribals

were now dispersed across Naanac, out of range to see Lige personally.

The Elders stared up as Lige's shuttle descended. Vibrantly colored

blankets, intricately crafted, flared around Elder John as the shuttle’s

boosters fired, slowing the vessel's approach. Lige’s shuttle came to a heavy

rest twenty meters from the Elders. With a hiss it depressurized, venting

spent air and taking in fresh. Lige made his way down the extended ramp as
466 AmerIndian 2192

jets of air shot out and away from the ship. Jaret followed. A pair of UDA body

tank troops brought Potlatch Weaver out in the grav chair. Lige approached

carefully, stopping a few meters from the Elders. “The UDA is prepared to

recognize the AmerIndian Confederacy’s sovereignty in governing Naanac if

the Elders agree the AmerIndian Confederacy will comply with all UDA tax

codes and trade regulations.”

Stormseeker stepped forward, pointing at Lige. Celetain pushed him

back physically and spoke, “Send Potlatch Weaver over as a measure of good

faith. Then we will continue to speak.”

Lige turned toward Potlatch Weaver. “Potlatch Weaver's release is tied

to the successful completion of our negotiations.” Lige walked forward

offering a small container. “Weaver's fingers. The sooner we can wrap this up

the sooner you can address his current difficulties.”

Stormseeker growled, “Those terms are unacceptable and if you think

you can hold a tribal bleeding in front of us for another minute without

repercussions you are sorely mistaken.”

“The UDA is reasonable. What concessions are you willing to make?”

There was silence for a moment and Stormseeker said clearly, “None.”

Silence resumed. A smile crept across Lige's lips. Instinctively, the

AmerIndian Confederacy body tank warriors moved closer to each Elder and

Wovoka.

Lige whispered, “Now.”

 J. Scott Garibay 467

Every surface on the shuttle rippled, panels blowing off in every

direction like shards from a shattered glass. UDA body tank troops shot from

the sides and bottom of the shuttle, exploded out of the top and rained to

the ground. Without hesitation, each AmerIndian Confederacy body tank

warrior grabbed an Elder. Cavaho moved to snatch up Wovoka and carry him

to safety. But Wovoka signaled Cavaho to belay his action. Body tank

gauntlets were capable of crushing plasteel like Styrofoam and yet each

body tank warrior gripped an Elder with the gentleness of a mother's touch.

The body tank warriors darted, carrying each Elder away. They exposed the

back of their armor to the sixty-four UDA body tank troops that now

surrounded Lige's shuttle.

In seconds, each Elder was well clear of Lige’s shuttle. Only Wovoka

and Cavaho stood before the mayhem. Wovoka had seen the situation

unfolding and had acted on instinct born through years as an Infiltrator. The

UDA body tank troops on the ground were unleashing mini-rockets and rail

guns on the tribals at the edge of the two hundred meter circle.

Cavaho had positioned his body tank carefully to block fire from the

UDA body tank troops. A mini-rocket struck his mobile armor and sent

Cavaho hurtling ten meters away.

Wovoka, now shieldless, flung himself to the safest point in the

maelstrom, at Lige. A few steps built momentum and Wovoka hurled his feet

forward. Lige went for his knife when saw the White Buffalo's intent.

Wovoka's body passed by Lige's torso and caught Lige under the chin as he
468 AmerIndian 2192

passed. His momentum carried him, crashing into Potlatch Weaver. The grav

chair rose and toppled. Lige's shoulder hit at a hard angle and his face

ground into the wet grass. Potlatch Weaver strained against the metal

clamps on the grav chair, to no avail. Wovoka kicked at the nearest UDA

body tank and toppled the troop onto himself, Weaver and Lige.

Jaret's first impulse was to dive in and slice everything but Lige to

ribbons with his diamond-coated katana. He resisted the impulse and

scanned the scene. Six UDA body tank troops were focused on the human

pretzel. Jaret figured that was enough. The rest of the UDA body tank troops

were turning outward, moving toward the outer ring of tribals, firing with

relish. Jaret watched as two-dozen tribals were cut down on the left. He

heard the familiar streak of Jet Tigers approaching. To Jaret's right he saw

four UDA body tank troops carrying opened body tanks for Jaret and Lige. He

judged he had ten seconds. His blade flashed out.

Jaret pounced forward, blade swinging back. He was forced to abort his

attack, landing carefully, releasing the tension in his arms. Wovoka stood

from the mass of bodies holding Lige's own knife to the Grand Admiral's

stretched throat. A trickle of blood flowed down Lige's neck. Any one of the

six body tanks could have killed Wovoka from their angle. If Wovoka was not

completely incapacitated, the slightest abrasion from the diamond-coated

knife could kill Lige.

 J. Scott Garibay 469

Wovoka screamed. “A UDA body tank troop frees Potlatch Weaver

imediately. I -”

Without hesitation, Jaret signaled one of the body tank troops. The

body tank troop grabbed Weaver's grav chair, without righting it and

released Weaver from his bonds. Potlatch scrambled to his feet, then

hesitated. Wovoka yelled, “Get out of here!” Potlatch hurried off in the

direction the elders were taken. The four remaining body tank troops

approached carrying Jaret and Lige's opened body tanks.

As Jaret looked back to see how close the body tanks were he saw

chaos erupting at the circle’s edge. The UDA body tank troops were moving

out in a smooth and steady circle. Jaret could see dozens of tribals were

dead. Tribals were running like cattle. Save one. Jaret could see one tribal in

a large loose blanket flapping as the figure ran toward the UDA body tank

troops. Jaret did not have time to continue to watch the tribal fall, as he

surely would.

Jaret stepped closer to Wovoka. “Get Back,” Wovoka pulled in closer to

Lige to improve the Grand Admiral's use as a shield.

Jaret circled and motioned for the body tank troops to back up. “I

released Weaver. Now release Lige.”

Wovoka looked around nervously, realizing the UDA body tank troops

were backing up. When he released Lige the UDA body tank troops would
470 AmerIndian 2192

riddle him so full of holes their would be little chance of identifying his

corpse.

Jaret saw the concern on Wovoka's face. “Release him, no man here

will fire on you.” He shouted, “On my command, no man will fire on Wovoka.”

Wovoka shoved Lige forward and stood defenseless. Wovoka waited for

the first laser to burn his flesh, the first rail ammunition to pass cleanly

through him. Lige rolled in the damp grass, came up fast. He stood and

grabbed a rail gun from the nearest troop, leveling it at Wovoka. Jaret

stepped in front of the barrel, “No, get in your body tank. I gave my word.”

Lige glared at Jaret and hesitantly cast aside the rail gun. He turned to climb

into his opened body tank.

Jaret turned to Wovoka and leveled the katana. Wovoka shifted his grip

on the diamond-coated knife and took a fighting stance. Jaret looked at the

knife, his katana. Jaret gripped the katana, spun it and planted it cleanly in

the ground. Wovoka circled, trying to read the move. Jaret then pulled his

wakazashi and advanced. Wovoka understood Jaret was offering a fair fight

but knew it would not matter. He sensed the lack of skill and confidence in

himself compared to his opponent, the feeling he had when he faced Cavaho

in hand-to-hand. Wovoka stiffened and remembered he was on a battlefield.

Jaret advanced on him, slicing twice with his diamond-coated

Wakazashi. Wovoka let go of his fear, turning it into adrenaline. He blocked

 J. Scott Garibay 471

both slashes with the knife and moved in toward Jaret. Wovoka bolted his

elbow up and forward, crashing the bone into Jaret's mouth.

Jaret bolted back, refusing to acknowledge the blood that flowed from

his mouth. Instantly he shifted the wakazashi and closed again. The two

clashed together this time, Wovoka thrusting fast with the knife, a move Jaret

was forced to counter. Once Wovoka's thrust was countered the two were

close. Jaret vindictively slammed his elbow into Wovoka's mouth at the same

time he shoved his right foot between Wovoka's legs. With a twist and throw

he sent Wovoka to the ground. With speed and accuracy that humiliated

Wovoka, Jaret plucked the knife from his hands as Wovoka gasped to bring

air into his lungs and spastically blinked.

Jaret flicked his wrist and raised his arm. The wakazashi flashed, poised

to deliver the killing blow.

Wovoka waited for his death as doubt flashed through his mind.

“Celetain was wrong. I am not the White Buffalo, only a man born to die at

the hands of a superior warrior,” he thought.

The teams of UDA body tank troops continued forward, firing furiously.

They had taken down more than a hundred tribals now. The deadly circle of

body tank troops parted slightly and the approaching tribal Jaret had seen

earlier was close enough to be seen and heard.

472 AmerIndian 2192

“Jaret.” The voice was soft, but it carried to Jaret as though whispered

in his ear. He turned to see Alexa. Her hair blew back with the camouflage

cloth that had covered it. Jaret slowed, stopped.

“This time I'm not asking you to come, but to stay.” Alexa extended her

hand.

Lige snapped the last clamp on his body tank. His helmet remained

open but an uttered command would close and seal the body tank. Two UDA

body tank troops held Jaret's open body tank close by.

Jaret loomed above Wovoka, his wakazashi still poised. Lige walked

close, glancing at Alexa. He saw the way Jaret was staring at her,

considering, deciding.

“The escape from Black Mariah,” Lige said slowly. “The way the soldier

moved? It was you.”

Jaret remained frozen, the blade held aloft like a question mark.

“Forget Wovoka. Forget Alexa. Suit up.” Lige said it plainly,

commanding his soldier, the way he had done countless times before.

Alexa spoke softly. “ Please, Jaret. Lige is not you. He is not part of you.

Stay.”

Jaret turned from Alexa. He lowered the blade and started toward the

troops holding his open body tank. “I am sorry, father.” In one clean cut with

the wakazashi, Jaret severed his opened body tank shoulder to hip. It would
 J. Scott Garibay 473

not be able to seal. The automatic release of the virus could not be triggered.

The roar of approaching Jet Tigers could be heard.

“You are my greatest betrayal. You will be my greatest victory.” Lige

grabbed Jaret's katana from the ground and plunged it deep into the chest of

the body tank troop carrying the virus. The body tank troop staggered and

dropped heavily to his knees. The sword had penetrated through his chest to

the cylinder carried on the back of his armor. A thick bubble of liquid began

to coagulate on the bottom of the cylinder. The UDA body tank troops knew

further combat was superfluous. They pulled Lige with them as they bounded

back to the shuttle. The signal was given and the circle of slaughtering UDA

body tank troops was called back. Hatches were wide open across the shuttle

and the UDA body tank troops packed in.

Jaret saw the bubble of virulent liquid tremble before it dropped to the

crushed moss below. He shouted, “Run, run.” He grabbed Alexa's hand.

Wovoka rolled to his side, all he could manage before Cavaho, his body tank

still smoking, lifted and carried him off like a child.

“Anthra Sweet. It will spread like a ripple on a pond. Get shuttles down.

Get your Elders away.” Jaret yelled to Alexa. She finger tapped the words to

the nearest shuttle.

There was no visible reaction for five seconds after the drop of Anthra

Sweet hit the ground. Then quickly it spread. Every fleck of green moss on
474 AmerIndian 2192

the ground turned white, dying instantly. The virus spread like dye across a

clean cloth.

Alexa, Jaret and Cavaho, carrying Wovoka, reached the edge of the

open plain. They had to jump over dead tribals to get close to the shuttles

that were busily being prepping for launch. Stormseeker ran to them with

Celetain following and took Wovoka from Cavaho. He helped Wovoka stand

on his own feet.

Jaret spoke in a rush. “It is spreading at one half meter every few

seconds. The virus will kill every tribal gathered here in a few minutes.”

Stormseeker pulled Wovoka’s arm over his shoulder. “Get on the

shuttle, all of you. Wovoka, stay with me long enough to give one

command.” Celetain began to protest. Stormseeker interrupted her. “We are

in battle, Elder Shaman. Heed my wisdom. Move.” Celetain raced away with

Jaret and Alexa toward a ready shuttle.

“Wovoka, it is time to fulfill prophecy. It is time to pay the real price for

this planet. It was not the blood of the UDA fleet crews that paid for Naanac.

You will make the payment now. We have to cauterize the wound. You have

to command me to detonate a Nagasphere right here, right now. It will kill

everyone here and anyone carrying the virus. You have about another thirty

seconds to decide. If you don't make this command, the virus will turn

Naanac into a wasteland. What do you command, White Buffalo?”

 J. Scott Garibay 475

Wovoka's head spun. He knew in his heart Stormseeker was right. The

virus would kill every living thing on Naanac. One of the nine planets in

existence that could support life would be snuffed out if he did not make the

command. And yet Stormseeker was asking him to command the slaughter

of at least three thousand tribals, his brothers and sisters. Wovoka looked at

Stormseeker as he gave the command. “I command you to detonate a

Nagasphere at this location.”

Cavaho stood behind Wovoka and caught Stormseeker's subtle

gesture. With blinding speed the old Elder Warrior slammed his fist into the

already weary Wovoka's face, knocking him unconscious. Cavaho knew it

was the only way they would get Wovoka onto a shuttle. Cavaho carried

Wovoka away.

Stormseeker holstered his Sledge Violator. “I need forbidden dropped

at my feet, Razor Eight. Put the blossom on a Jet Tiger. Drop in 150 seconds.

Get as many shuttles down on the ground as you can. The shuttles are only

to pick up tribals on the outskirts of this field. They must cut off pick-ups

when I give the command. Move fast, warriors.”

Stormseeker dropped his head and finger tapped his god-code. His voice

poured out of every speaker on every shuttle, in the air or on the ground.

“Brother and sisters, we are infected. I must sever the hand or the body will

die. Please grant me your trust and let me do what must be done. Everyone
476 AmerIndian 2192

who can leave in the next few moments must go. I will remain with those

who cannot leave. Please recognize my wisdom and my love and do not

waste time or lives. What I do now, I do at the White Buffalo’s command.”

Stormseeker looked back across the field and saw white death

spreading only a hundred meters away. He ran farther out and climbed to the

top of one of the grey leafed trees surrounding the field. The Elder Warrior

settled on two branches near the top and watched the scene from his new

vantage point. He saw shuttles boarding chiefs and tribals alike. He also

watched as Lige's shuttle arced across the sky toward the chunnel.

Stormseeker grimaced as he watched Lige's shuttle crew evade, attack and

penetrate their way to escape.

Stormseeker turned and concentrated on the task at hand. Out of the

three thousand tribals on the ground only two thousand had reached shuttles

in time to lift off safely. He watched the remaining thousand tribals run for

their lives to the last four shuttles still on the ground. The white death spread

constantly, evenly, getting closer to the tribals and shuttles. Stormseeker

saw three Jet Tigers sail above the crowd, their bellies facing him. He

fingered tapped a channel to all of the fighters in the sky and the grounded

shuttles. “Attention: all grounded shuttles. Your passengers may be carriers

of the virus. Do not lift off. Active Jet Tigers, all shuttles that are

contamination free are in the air. All shuttles that lift off from this point on

are to be shot down.”

 J. Scott Garibay 477

Stormseeker’s heart soared as he saw the engines of two of the

shuttles flame out, their crews signing their own death warrants in exchange

for the safety of their brother and sister tribals. One of the other two shuttles

that he could see through his comp set optics closed its ramp and lifted off.

The other shuttle kept its engine hot.

Stormseeker frowned. “Obsidian Buck, Lead Wing, descend and scrap

Shuttles 608 and 409.”

These were Nez Perce pilots. Their response to an order was usually

immediate. “Those shuttles are carrying women and children, Elder Warrior.”

Stormseeker blinked and swallowed. “I am aware of that, troop. I need

you to carry out your order without delay.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Cut loose, Flow. I have this,” the pilot said. Stormseeker watched as

the wingman reluctantly curved away. The lead Jet Tiger picked up speed. All

of the fighter’s shields were down and all energy for the lifting shuttle was

being poured into escape speed. All four of the Jet Tiger’s Cobra Strike

missiles flared from the belly of the fighter and cruised to the engine-on

shuttle on the ground. The shuttle exploded into thin fragments and rained

to the white, dead ground below it.

The lasers on the Jet Tiger would not take down escaping shuttle. The

Jet Tiger’s lasers would penetrate the shuttle’s hull, but not down it. It

appeared the lead fighter had no way to take the last shuttle down.
478 AmerIndian 2192

Stormseeker cursed. The pilot had made a mistake. Stormseeker’s eyes

widened, however, once he understood. The lead fighter accelerated and

curved, slamming headlong into the shuttle’s side at top speed. The shuttle

and Jet Tiger detonated brilliantly, spraying wreckage across the sky, at once

a horrific and beautiful act.

Tribals screamed as they were caught by the spreading virus and

heaps of bodies calcified at the touch of the invisible killer. Tribals ran, in

futility, trying to keep distance. It hurt Stormseeker to see this. His tribals,

mad with fear, all intelligence and organization gone. They were his people.

He had seen tribals face death individually with bravery and defiance. But he

knew their reaction to death now was warranted. This time death came to

them without a face, without any chance of escape. Worst of all, their

sacrifice was not for all the tribes but for one man, Potlatch Weaver, who had

pleaded wordlessly for his own death instead.

Stormseeker shook his head. John and Celetain had made the wrong

decision. Lige had defeated them utterly and over one thousand tribals

would pay the price for their misplaced compassion. The Elder Warrior knew,

however, if he hesitated, if he thought in the same soft, weak manner that

created this situation, then the number of tribals lost would triple or

quadruple and Naanac could be destroyed.

Stormseeker gave the last command of his life. “Obsidian Rage Pack

Alpha. Drop Forbidden at my feet.”

 J. Scott Garibay 479

There was a cold silence broken by the Nez Perce pilot. “I will meet you

at the delta of the great river, Elder Warrior.” The pilot's Jet Tiger was

already streaking toward its mark. The fighter reached the detonation point.

The Nagasphere-turned-bomb mounted on the bottom of the Jet Tiger was

not visible to Stormseeker, but he could feel its presence. “Now we pay the

price that has always been demanded for land. We pay it in full.”

The Nagasphere, designed to let the energy of a nuclear explosion

seep out in trickles, released all of its fury. Eight kilometers in diameter of

Naanac disappeared in an instant. A blue-white wave of energy vaporized

everything in a perfect circle. For five seconds every molecule in the space

was separated from those surrounding it, wiped of all memory of its former

being. A thousand tribals (including one Elder and two chiefs) died in that

moment. The land that had contained the deadly virus was now the most

pristine area on Naanac. There would be no corpses to bury. Nothing would

grow there ever again.

 J. Scott Garibay 123

CHAPTER 37

Thousands of tribals stood around the path Wovoka walked as he

headed back to the Elder Hall. The last two days had been spent hearing the

stories of Wovoka, Celetain and John with the Elders and chiefs asking many

questions. Now was time for the decision to be handed down. Wovoka kept

his eyes straight ahead.

“Where is Jaret?” Wovoka asked coolly.

Keokuk sensed the undercurrent in the question. He walked quickly to

keep pace with Wovoka. “He is on the Diegueño land. He and Alexa have

been isolated in a remote area.”

“The Elders imprisoned Alexa with him?” Wovoka asked incredulously.

“No, neither of them are imprisoned. Jaret has been isolated to protect

him from angry tribals.”

“Well, when are they getting Jaret off planet, back to the UDA?”

Keokuk didn't look at Wovoka as he answered. “They're not. In a week,

Jaret goes into path trial to become a full tribal.”

124 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka’s stride quickened. “That's insane. He is responsible for the

death of thousand of tribals.”

“So are you.”

Wovoka let the comment fall and entered the Elder Hall with Keokuk. It

felt like it had all been a dream. Numbness continued as he and his brother

took their place next to Celetain Prax and Elder John. The four stood with

their backs to the far wall of the Elders hall. Nine chiefs, two brand new to

their positions, sat before them.

Morgan Weaver stood and walked slowly. He spoke quietly and yet in

the cavernous hall his voice was heard clearly. Misty rain fell through the hole

in the top of the roof but the fire blazed with light and warmth. “The chiefs,

the people, have had a difficult time calculating, weighing what has been lost

and what has been gained. Naanac was quite firmly in our grasp.”

Wovoka struggled to process that Wolf Plume sat before him as a chief.

The Nez Perce chief had given his life trying to get tribal children onto the

departing shuttles before the Nagasphere was detonated. Wovoka shook his

head at the oddity of a Russian Nez Perce chief. Odder still, the Nez Perce

had embraced this non-black chief.

Morgan Weaver's words were correct. After the Nagasphere detonation

the AmerIndian Confederacy had sent a very clear, short message to Earth.

“Naanac and the surrounding fifty billion kilometers are territory claimed by

the AmerIndian Confederacy. If one UDA ship enters that space without
 J. Scott Garibay 125

authorization directly from the Elder Council one third of the population of all

outposts and colonies will be annihilated by a second Ghost Dance. We

demand all UDA citizens wishing to come and join the AmerIndian

Confederacy be allowed the freedom to do so.”

Riots erupted on all eight colony planets and on many outposts. UDA

citizens made it clear to their leaders that Naanac meant nothing to them

and the AmerIndian Confederacy should be left alone. Not a single ship

approached the AmerIndian Confederacy's claimed space. The AmerIndian

Confederacy now indisputably controlled Naanac and even a dozen or more

outposts due to masses of AmerIndian Confederacy sympathizers. Privilege

Colony officially recognized Naanac as an AmerIndian Confederacy

settlement and began trade talks. It was a posturing gesture because the

UDA did not allow any trade or diplomatic contact by colonies to enemies of

the state. The direction of sentiment concerned UDA leaders nonetheless.

It could not be ignored, however, that UDA Grand Admiral Lige

delivered the greatest blow to the AmerIndian Confederacy since the White

Earth Massacre, forcing them to detonate a nuclear device on their own land,

their own people. No one in the UDA knew exactly what had happened.

Stories ranged wildly from one newscast to the next.

Morgan Weaver stopped walking. “We have gained our Homeland.

Every AmerIndian Confederacy tribal has worked tirelessly toward that goal

for over two decades. It was the preeminent task facing all tribals. All else

was secondary and all else could be sacrificed toward that goal. Now the
126 AmerIndian 2192

Elders and chiefs are gathered to sit in judgment of each of you. Yet we are

obligated to thank each of you for your role in accomplishing what the

human race had thought impossible, claiming a Homeland for the Native

American people, dispossessed for seven centuries. You will be remembered

in song and in tales of every generation to follow. Thank you.”

There was a moment of quiet and each chief nodded in thanks,

echoing Morgan's words. Morgan stared ahead. Water trickled down the

carved flow paths of the hall windows. “But we have also suffered the

greatest loss of life since the White Earth Massacre, all for one man, a man

who would have given his life for any one of us. Lige defeated us because of

a foolish, selfish decision that the Elder Warrior Stormseeker rightly advised

against. You, Elder Shaman Prax, made that decision and you, Elder John,

supported it. However, we as a body, do not question your passion for or

your loyalty to the AmerIndian Confederacy. We know your decision was

made out of love for our Elder Creator, Potlatch Weaver. You will retain your

status as honored Elders and there will be opportunities for you to erase the

damage you have caused.” Morgan Weaver waited, looking at Celetain and

John.

Celetain and John nodded, accepting the chiefs and Elders decision.

Morgan Weaver continued. “The Elder Council is broken and a new

circle must be forged. An Elder Warrior must be chosen. We as Elders try to

listen to the clear and direct will of the tribals. Potlatch Weaver, we ask you

serve the AmerIndian Confederacy again and search among our number for
 J. Scott Garibay 127

the tribal to assume Stormseeker’s duties. The tribals crave your love, your

words, your guidance and by doing them this service you will be among

them again. Perhaps their love can heal your wounds as well, father.”

Potlatch Weaver, seated away from the group, began to shake his

head. “I am not worthy and I have never been wise. I should not choose-”

“The man who has no desire to bend others to his will is best suited to

lead.” Morgan said the words with a smile. They were a direct quote from

Words of a Tribal, Potlatch Weaver's first work.

“I will serve,” Potlatch Weaver said flatly.

Morgan turned to Wovoka. “Wovoka, you have served most valiantly as

White Buffalo. Now the prophecy will be fulfilled in full. You alone ordered the

death of a thousand tribals. Harm from one tribal to another is always

answered with banishment. It is with shame and pain that I command you to

leave the Homeland and the tribes and never return.”

Gasps rose from those in the room. The news passed outside the Elder

Hall in seconds and a din of outrage and triumph erupted from the thousands

of tribals waiting outside. Cavaho strode forward to stand next to his

banished leader. His position made it clear that Wovoka's banishment would

also be his own. Only Keokuk noticed Celetain turn away, her face showing

only loss.
128 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka stepped forward. “You are a wise council. You have made the

right decision. I will leave Naanac immediately and I shall not return to you

for as long as I live.”

Cavaho stared at each of the Elders and chiefs with barely controlled

rage.

With the same decisive manner he had used to lead the tribes, Wovoka

ended the meeting by turning and exiting the Elder Hall. Cavaho shadowed

him. Apaches opened the doors for him and others got down on one knee as

he passed.

Thousands of tribals hushed as the White Buffalo appeared before

them. “Tribals. I have been banished as the prophecy declared. I am not

ashamed or angry because of this. I am the White Buffalo and the

Grandfather's chose the path I now follow. I chose to pay the price that has

always been demanded for land. I will never forget the tribal blood that I

have shed and I will never regret my decision. I leave you now and wish only

peace and harmony from this day forth.”

Wovoka strode forward, the crowed parting before him reverently.

Keokuk ran to walk with him. “I will come with you, Brother.”

“No, Keokuk. Your place is here. I cannot enjoy what I gained for the

tribes but you can protect it. Your place is here.”

Keokuk knew Wovoka was right. “Thank, God, our mother is settled on

Windhome,” Keokuk thought. “Seeing this would break her heart.” The tribals
 J. Scott Garibay 129

surrounding them were continuing to bow before Wovoka but there were also

the baleful stares of many that felt the loss of their children, brothers, sisters,

wives, husbands, friends.

Keokuk hurried to keep up with his brother’s pace. “We regain the

Homeland after seven centuries and the Elders and chiefs condemn you

leading them to it,” Keokuk shook his head.

Wovoka did not take his eyes from the tribals along the path as he

walked, but concentrated on remembering the feel of the ground beneath his

feet. “I deserve to be banished. I am only worried for Celetain and John. I am

not sure they will be able to enjoy what they have won. I think John is irked

that Potlatch Weaver is the only Philosopher King of the AmerIndian

Confederacy. Perhaps he will use his time to write. I myself am looking

forward to going over Potlatch Weaver's work during his missing years. John

told me it is brilliant and may be added to the sacred texts. I do not know

how Celetain will fair.”

Keokuk looked up as the White Buffalo’s outrider ship blasted down to

land on Naanac's wet surface. The chunnel had been expanded by the

Apaches to allow even the largest outrider ships to come through. The Nez

Perce’s finest outrider ship was the vessel Wolf Plume had chosen to send

Wovoka off in. It was crewed with tribals loyal to Wovoka, crew that would

serve him for the rest of their lives, unable to return to Naanac. Wolf Plume

had to choose from thousands of tribals that had asked for the privilege to

serve the White Buffalo, even in banishment.

130 AmerIndian 2192

The ship’s ramp extended down and tribals pulled close to the last

point their greatest hero and most dangerous leader would stand on Naanac.

Wolf Plume made his way through the throng. He wrapped his arms

tight around Wovoka. “I will miss you, tovarisch. You did well, what had to be

done.” Tears streamed down the old Russian’s face. “Spasibo for letting me

serve with you. You gave an old man the adventure of his life.” Wolf Plume

hugged hard before letting Wovoka go.

Keokuk embraced his brother. “I will protect what you have gained for

our people.”

Celetain stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Wovoka. “I am

sorry.” It was all she said.

She turned abruptly to Cavaho. He met her eyes and she ran to him,

burying herself in his arms. She clutched and kissed him. He released her

and she backed away. They would be apart now. A love never given time to

blossom, challenged from the start. Celetain ran away, the crowd swallowing

her.

Potlatch Weaver stepped forward and the crowd hushed to hear his

words. “Your father served the AmerIndian Confederacy all of his life and

then gave his life without hesitation. He would be proud of you because you

achieved the goal despite the cost. You are your father's son and you are the

White Buffalo. I thank you for what you have done, the sacrifices you have

made and I wish you all of Wambli's freedom and beauty in your life.
 J. Scott Garibay 131

However, as my son has said - you are banished. No tribal will ever again

heed your words, nor will you walk on the Homeland again. Make your way,

White Buffalo.”

Wovoka stared into Potlatch Weaver's eyes a moment before he bent

to the ground. He placed his cheek against wet moss, spreading his arms

wide to embrace the Homeland. He rose and walked up the ramp of his

outrider ship. His crew had sacrificed their right to ever be called tribals

again to serve on his ship. Serve how? What would be the direction of his life

now that he had been banished from the only people and home he had ever

known?

Wovoka walked to the observation deck of his ship and watched as the

grey-green planet he had killed one thousand tribals to save fell away. His

outrider ship hit the chunnel at speed and the rocks that filled the sky

streaked across Wovoka's view through the glasteel. Stars exploded into view

and the ship arced forward into outer space.

Autumn Sky approached. Cavaho stood between her and Wovoka

instinctually. Wovoka touched Cavaho's shoulder lightly and he stepped

aside. Autumn Sky wore a dark uniform without insignia. Behind her stood a

thin teenager that Wovoka recognized as Derek, the new AmerIndian

Confederacy sympathizer from New Angelos. Wovoka smiled at the boy and

the boy beamed back.

“Where shall I take her, White Buffalo?” Autumn Sky asked.

132 AmerIndian 2192

Wovoka turned back to the waiting stars. “Deep Periphery.”